


Shatter Me

by amutemockingjay



Series: Crash and Burn Girl [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Gen, Healing, I'm Bad At Tagging, LGBTQ Character, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 50,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6689380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amutemockingjay/pseuds/amutemockingjay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliza Schuyler was a good girl. That was pretty much all that could be said. What hid under that facade had yet to be untangled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heartache

**Author's Note:**

> So my first Hamilton fic, and forays into fandom after a long time. So I'm not really confident in my abilities anymore. This will be all from Eliza's POV, as this is her story. TW for ED stuff. This may have some Lams, because I have a soft spot for it, but not entirely sure yet, we'll see what the characters want to do. Also, fun fact: George Washington's New York home was on Cherry Street.

Eliza Schuyler was a good girl. 

That was pretty much all that could be said. A perfect child, a middle child, but not prone to all the clichés that one usually associated with middle children. Always ready to lend a hand. Dreaming of making a small difference in the world, of being a social worker. Her sisters were the trailblazers, the ones who would change everything. Angelica, with her brilliant mind, and Peggy, with their determination. Eliza didn’t think anyone would call her brilliant. Smart, yes—all of the Schuyler siblings were. But beyond that, she knew there was little to be said about the middle Schuyler sibling.

She still wasn’t exactly sure how it all started. When she transitioned from being invisible metaphorically to shrinking literally, until there was nothing left. It didn’t go without notice, especially with Angelica’s ability to sweep past the bullshit and get to the heart of the issue. Instead of telling the truth—not that Eliza was even sure what the truth was anymore—she lied until the words no longer tripped over her tongue. She was just tired, she said. Worn out. It was senior year of high school. An important year, she repeated over and over. Even if she was just going to go to Columbia like Angelica did. Angelica wasn’t buying it. She may not have been home as often as she used to, but she could see there was something seriously wrong. Eliza looked _haunted_.

“Come on,” she said to Eliza one blustery November morning. “We’re getting coffee. My treat.”

Eliza blinked her wide brown eyes. “But we have coffee at home.”

“Yeah, regular coffee. But I want the ridiculously overpriced kind with whipped cream and butterscotch syrup and those weird blends with cookie butter.”

Eliza doesn’t move towards the coat closet. Her feet, clad in white sneakers with her signature aquamarine laces, stay planted right where they are, between the kitchen island and the exposed brick wall.

“Please,” Angelica wheedled. “We can get breakfast at that French bakery down the street. Your favorite.”

Eliza licked her lips. They’re dry and cracked and make-up less. Unusual for her. But so was her clothes. Instead of her usual vintage-cute style, always with a touch of aquamarine, she was wrapped up in a ratty old sweatshirt that hid her frame, arms crossed over her chest.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, almost too quiet to be audible.

“Then just get the coffee. I’ve missed you, ‘Liza. You’ve been so busy lately, what with homework and college apps, and community service at the group home. And I’m in that sweet period before finals hell starts.” Angelica grabbed her sister’s hand. Bone has replaced flesh, and her skin is unbearably cold.

Eliza broke contact and looked away from her sister’s inquisitive gaze. “All right,” she said.

The coffee shop wasn’t one of those chain stores that dominated New York City, breeding every few blocks. It was a local joint, the kind infiltrated by the hipsters who pretended to write sonnets while feverishly wondering if someone was staring at them, the kind where dogs sat under owners’ tables, happily munching on a treat given to them by Hercules Mulligan, the shop’s eclectic owner. Mulligan kept a neighborhood lending library in the shop, one of the reasons why it was a Schuyler family favorite.

Eliza doesn’t get coffee. She ordered a tall Earl Grey tea, no cream, no sugar. Mulligan’s Earl Grey isn’t your average tea. It’s blended with sweet Madagascar vanilla that Eliza inhaled with gratitude. The extra kick of flavor kept her from being tempted by sugar—she used to be a sugar freak, craving the stuff whenever she was especially stressed.

Angelica got her cookie butter iced coffee whatever, and parked herself near the windows, where there was a cozy bay window seat with lots of colorful embroidered pillows. She patted a space next to her. Eliza held the mosaic mug tightly in her hands, the tea-warmth seeping through to bring life back to her fingers.

She felt cornered, somehow, like Angelica had an ace up her sleeve and was waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it. Her chest hurt, a stabbing throb that she should have been used to by now, but still made her short of breath whenever it showed up. Eliza had been in pain on and off for weeks now, and had said nothing. It was probably nothing. Stress, she told herself. Stress from the heavy load of AP classes she was taking.

Angelica took a sip from her coffee monstrosity. “How are you doing, ‘Liza?” She asked.

“Fine,” was Eliza’s  tight-lipped answer, annoyance crowding out the haze of pain. “You could have asked me that at home, ‘Gel, no need to go all the way out here.”

She used to tell her siblings everything. But for the past three months she had said precious little, a fact not ignored by both Angelica and Peggy.

“I thought you needed a break from home,” Angelica said carefully. “You’ve been studying non-stop all weekend.”

“Got a lot of homework.” Eliza took a sip of her tea. Her hands were shaking, and she tried not to spill everywhere.

Angelica reached over and grabbed Eliza’s free hand, which was still shaking. “We need to talk, Eliza.”

A skipped beat. Eliza put down her mug. “About what?”

“About whatever’s been getting at you lately. You’ve been…” Angelica paused. She wasn’t usually at a loss of words. Though it wasn’t a lack of words that was the issue here, it was exactly how to frame them without setting off her little sister on what was no doubt a tender topic.

Eliza returned to the tea, wishing she could pause time, and skip over this moment. She knew what was coming. Angelica was just too goddamn sharp to not notice.

“You’ve been withdrawn lately. Barely eating or drinking anything. Staying up to all hours of the night. Something’s going on. And you’re not usually one to keep things away from Peggy and I.”

“Maybe I don’t want to tell you and Peggy everything,” Eliza snapped, resting the empty mug on the ground. Caffeine buzzed through her veins and her mind cracked into tiny pieces.

“You know I’m doing you a favor, right? Letting you come to clean to whatever you’re doing to hurt yourself? I could have hauled Peggy out of bed, and made you  face the both of us. And I would have been a lot less nice about it.”

The pain in Eliza’s chest exploded, and she bit her lower lip, trying not to cry out. Pissed to some people looked like standing up and smashing things into pieces. Or vengeful, with little mercy for human feelings. Pissed off to Eliza meant running. She’d run for hours in Central Park, until she everything blurred together in her mind.

She stood up. Quickly. Too quickly. Everything tilted ninety degrees, and colors and sounds collided together into one mass of electricity that shocked her mind in waves. She could feel her knees give way before they actually did and she thought she reached out, to balance herself maybe, and dark spots swam in front of her until they bore into her eyes and everything fell away.

She vaguely heard Angelica calling her name until she drowned completely.

* * *

  


The air was antiseptic. Eliza could smell its potent traces before she surrendered herself to waking. The first thing she saw was Angelica and Peggy’s faces, brows puckered, eyes clouded with worry? Maybe? No, pissed. Definitely pissed.

“What the actual fuck—“ Peggy starts. Angelica cut them off.

“Elizabeth Schuyler, how could you do this, and scare the _shit_ out of me?!”

She doesn’t know what to say. And, thankfully, she doesn’t have to. The doctor comes in, a tall, dark-skinned woman with gorgeous natural hair.

“Elizabeth Schuyler?”

“Eliza, please,” said Eliza, not sure why she even said that.

“Eliza. Got it.” The doctor scribbled something on her clipboard. “Well, Eliza, I have a few questions for you. Nothing big. We’re running a few blood tests now, in the meantime, we’ve got you on an IV. Fluids now, electrolytes after.”

“Shouldn’t you be speaking with my parents?” Not that her father was here. Senate was in session, so Phillip Schuyler had business up in Albany. But her mother would be here, in Manhattan. Probably worried out of her mind.

“I will,” the doctor said. “Because you’re only seventeen, I am required to tell your parents what’s going on here today. But I thought I’d give you a little privacy to answer my questions first.”

“All right.”

“How much do you weigh?”

“I don’t know.” The lie came easily to her tongue.

“Okay. When was the last time you had your period?”

“Six weeks ago.”

“Do you have any periods of fainting, dizziness, fatigue?”

“I don’t really see why it matters. It’s really nothing. Just a little stressed out. Senior year, I have a lot going on—“

“Your sisters mentioned that you do a lot of community service.” A nurse stopped in and handed the doctor some papers. The doctor scanned it over, and fixed her eyes straight on Eliza’s. “Eliza, how do you feel about yourself?”

“How do I feel about myself?” She repeated the question back as if she didn’t understand the meaning of the words. “Fine,” she said, after a lengthy pause.

“Well, your body doesn’t seem to agree with that sentiment. You’re anemic, your liver functions are down, your blood pressure is so low as to be downright dangerous, and your electrolytes are imbalanced.”

Damn. Not good. Eliza felt a sense of betrayal, her own body had turned its back on her. “So you’re going to have to tell my parents,” she said in a small voice.

“Yes. These results, and your answers give me a pretty strong sense of what’s going on.”

“Which is?”  The doctor opened her mouth to reply, and right before she did, Eliza realized what she was going to say.

“Anorexia nervosa.”

Eliza let the doctor go without another word. Curled up into a small ball, she wrapped herself in the scratchy cotton blanket and closed her eyes. She pretended to be asleep when Angelica and Peggy came back in the room to talk. She said nothing when she was let out of the hospital a few days later. Said nothing when her family demanded answers from her. And said nothing when a week after this whole mess began, she found herself, suitcase in hand, at the Cherry Street Psychiatric Center for Adolescents.

* * *

  


Shoes off. Laces removed. Did she have flats? Yes? She may find those more comfortable to wear. Dress off. Bra off. Underwear gone. Hold head up high while the female nurse conducts the strip search, taking in every inch of translucent flesh, the bones that tell more than she could ever say.

Shivering, putting the clothes back on after what she is informed will be a daily weigh-in. Bag searched, notebook confiscated. She wasn’t much of a writer, but the tattered volume held copies of poems that she read over and over again. She asked when she could have it back. Got no answer.

Lead down a brightly painted hallway, with the dandelion blossom and inspirational quote that meant nothing to her. Being told where her room was, a cinderblock thing with a vent that let out sweet puffs of central heating. Wanting nothing more than to curl up on top of the grate and let the air scald her bones.

Called to a meal. Breakfast. Paperwork will be done after she’s eaten. Aware of her own footsteps as she enters the dining room. The crowd gathered. Several boys. One other girl. The tray weighs more than her entire body. Heat rushing to her hands. The smell is enough to make her pass out. Taking a seat at one of the abandoned tables. Staring down at the tray, willing the food to disappear. Lump in the throat, vocal chords tightening. No. She can’t cry over a plate of eggs. Look up, pay attention.

A boy caught her gaze. He was talking, so quickly that she could not make out all of his words as they ran into sentences, into paragraphs. Short. Tattered brown coat, worn at the elbows. Dark hair in a ponytail. Her heart did that skipping thing, and she ignored it.

Chair scraped against the linoleum floor. Body slammed against gravity and onto the butt of the chair. Dark eyes, blinking madly. Across from her, taking in her purple-ringed eyes, the ghost of a girl wrapped in cashmere.

Finally, he spoke.

“Hi. I’m Alexander Hamilton.”


	2. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza didn't know what was worse--being forced to eat, or talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter because I have basically been word-vomiting this fic, and this seemed like a good stopping point. Like Eliza, I find the strawberry supplement to be the lesser of all evils.

Eliza didn’t want to talk. Not really. She wanted to push back her chair and run, run all the way up the West Side until she got home. Pretend this all didn’t happen. Not like there was a problem to begin with.

She got the sense that this boy, Alexander Hamilton, was still talking, and she had no idea what he was saying. She decided just to nod and pretend she was listening. In reality, she was watching the eggs congeal on her plate. They couldn’t make her eat something so disgusting, could they?

Then a voice cut through the haze. A female voice. The only other girl in the room, with dark russet hair, and a nearly empty tray balanced on the tips of her fingers.

“Alex, leave her alone. She doesn’t have the energy to debate with you. Especially not at this hour of the morning. Not everyone stays up at all hours of the night like you.” The girl sat down in the third chair crowded around the small table. “I’m Theodosia. I don’t expect you to remember that, or really care. I didn’t care when I first got here, either.”

“Hi,” Eliza said faintly.

“I wasn’t debating with her,” Alexander said sullenly. “Just having a discussion about the economic downturn of the southern half of the country.”

Theodosia laughed. It was a sound Eliza wanted to hear again, a boom of thunder on a cloudless day. “Did you even ask her name?”

Alexander fiddles with the end of his ponytail, and casts his dark eyes down.

“I’m gonna take that as a no,” Theodosia said.

“I apologize,” Alexander said. His gaze moved from the floor to Eliza, and she looked up from her intimidating plate. “I shouldn’t have been so hasty.”

Everything about him screamed haste, from the messy way he pulled back his long hair to his words, crashing into each other with barely any time to breathe. It was endearing, really, his earnestness, and some of the glacier coolness she had wrapped herself in began to thaw.

“Elizabeth Schuyler,” she said. “Eliza, really.”

“Schuyler?”

She cringed inwardly. Of course he had to recognize the name. Her father was either revered or reviled, depending on who you asked. The epitome of old-money politics, with a contradictory liberal streak.

“Yeah,” she said. “Schuyler.”

“As in Angelica Schuyler?”

This caught her off-guard. “My sister.”

He lit up at this, less like a candle’s slow burn and more the incendiary explosion of fireworks. He could barely sit still in his chair. “Your sister writes one of the best feminist blogs out there.”

Eliza nodded. The blog had been ‘Gelica’s pet project for a little over a year now. Occasionally, she let Eliza or Peggy contribute articles. Peggy specialized in writing on gender identity and dreamed of creating a safe public space for trans, nonbinary, and genderqueer readers. Eliza stuck to her favorite topic, social work, lately the rising wage gap between male and female public servants.

“It’s kind of a project between all three of us,” she admitted.

“Fascinating,” he said. “I would love to hear your thoughts on the latest post, about the inadequate foster care system and how it diminishes opportunity for young students of color through overcrowding of group homes and other facilities.”

Eggs forgotten for a brief moment, Eliza felt a flicker of pride. It had been a long time since she felt like she had contributed anything worthwhile, had done anything right. “That was my article,” she said quietly.

He rewarded her with a smile. Eliza realized, with second-hand embarrassment, that she’d give anything to get him to smile like that again. It was stupid. She was being ridiculous.

“Well, if it takes landing in a hospital for us to meet, it will have been worth it,” he said.

Theodosia placed her palm on her forehead. “God damn it, Alex.”

“What?”

“Can you go a hot minute without hitting on someone?”

“I’m not hitting on her, I meant that sincerely—“

Eliza shrank in her seat. She hated brewing arguments, it was her cue to go disappear for a few hours. Even if it was good natured—Alexander did not look particularly irked, nor Theodosia particularly serious. Either way, she was grateful when a nurse interrupted them.

“Eliza, you have two minutes left to finish your meal.”

“What?” Eliza looked down at her untouched plate.

“You have thirty minutes to finish each meal, fifteen for a snack. If you don’t finish in the allotted time, you will be given supplement.”

“And if I refuse supplement?” Eliza hadn’t refused much in her life, but the option was attractive enough.

“You’ll be given a feeding tube.”

Her heart pounded so hard against her ribs she thought it was going to burst. She could feel her cheeks going red. Humiliation. Bad enough to be threatened with a feeding tube in private, but in front of Alexander and Theodosia? She couldn’t hide who she was, as much as she longed to do so. Her secret spilled out to all.

Then again, who was she kidding? Her body spoke volumes about where she was. It was the most contradictory thing—when she looked in a mirror, all she could see was the hated curves, the stretch marks, the pounds of fat encasing her thighs, her stomach, her hips. But she could feel her bones, relishing in the jut of her pelvis, in the way she could outline the hard ridges of her ribs. It made no sense, and she knew it made no sense, but it didn’t change what was there.

She didn’t realize she was shaking until she felt Theodosia reaching out to steady her.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It gets easier with time, I promise.”

The nurse whisked away Eliza’s tray. “Vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry?”

“What?” Eliza asked, aware of Alexander’s eyes on her, studying her.

“Your supplement flavor. Chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?”

“Oh. Um, strawberry.”

“Coming right up. Theodosia, Alexander, please go into the group room.”

“We’re staying right here,” Alexander said.

“Yeah,” said Theodosia. “We want to give Eliza support.”

The nurse returned with the supplement, a thick pink liquid in a tall glass. “While that’s a very nice thought, you know the rules. Especially you, Theodosia. Go to the group room. Eliza will join you after.”

“That’s bullshit,” Alexander said. He looked like he was about to start another argument. Theodosia stopped him short.

“Come on, Alex. Not worth the fight.”

“But—“

“Come on.” She practically pulled him out of the room. “Good luck, Eliza. We’re on your side.” She blew her a kiss, an act that startled Eliza out of her miserable reverie.

She stared at the frosted glass. The liquid looked less and less appealing the more the time passed.

“You have ten minutes to finish,” the nurse said.

Cautiously, Eliza lifted the glass and took a sip, wincing. It tasted like a milkshake gone wrong. She shuddered. Panic crawled up her body, settling for a long stay in the center of her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She choked as she tried to drink. Her mind, whirring with calculations about fat and calories, went into overdrive. There was no frame of reference for this drink, but it had been loaded with the dreaded calories, maybe even more than the meal that had been set out in front of her. There was a lump in her throat that refused to go away. Her eyes pricked with tears.

She didn’t want to cry. She couldn’t cry. Yet there she was, letting the tears pour down her cheeks. She finished the last dregs of the drink, got a nod of approval from the nurse.

She wanted nothing more than to run through the double doors at the end of the hallway, out into the blustery New York winter, disappear among the sleet and slush and snowflakes. But the door was locked. And if she went back home, her mother would just send her here again, or somewhere similar. There was no escape. Hopelessness hung a noose around her neck. She let out a small choking sound. The group room was on the right, but she couldn’t bring herself to enter. Not like this, with her dignity in small shards on the ground.

The door to the group room opened, and Theodosia stepped out onto the hallway. She walked straight to the nurses’ desk.

“I need a nurse for a one on one, please,” she said.

The woman behind the desk murmured something Eliza couldn’t hear.

Theodosia sat down on the ground next to Eliza. “I know what you’re going through,” she said.

“How?”

“I used to be anorexic, too.”

“I’m not anorexic.”

Theodosia didn’t challenge Eliza’s assertion. “The first time I came here, I had to be supplemented every meal. And I cried each time. It’s awful. It makes you feel degraded, like less of a person.”

“Then how did you get through it?”

“I didn’t. Not really. I mean, I switched sides.”

“Switched sides?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m here now. Anorexia to bulimia.”

Eliza wiped the salty tracks from her face. “I don’t think I could ever do that.”

“I didn’t think I could, either. I sunk to new lows.”

“Theodosia—“ One of the nurses called out.

Theodosia stood up, her knees cracking as she did so. “That’s why I’m on bathroom observation hell. But it only gets easier if you let it. Don’t let the eating disorder win. Are you ready to go into group now?”

“I guess.”


	3. Inbetween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza meets the other patients; Eliza hears all the things she doesn't want to; Theodosia tries to make things better in her own way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of notes: TW for ED stuff, particularly numbers;  
> raven_aorla's work Sharps Hour was my inspiration for using other Revolutionary figures as staff members and the like. She's an incredible writer, be sure to check out her Time Out of Mind series!   
> Also I feel so protective of Madison in this chapter. Actually all of them.

The group room was painted a soft turquoise, with white trim. Eliza liked the color, a brighter version of her signature aquamarine. There was a couch against one wall, with plush velvet pillows. A few chairs arranged in a semi-circle. The chairs were occupied by Alexander, and three other boys. The couch was empty. Eliza perched on the edge of the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest. She doesn’t look at them, nor the group leader, a brunette with perfect red lipstick, her hair swept up into a messy bun.

“Hi, I’m Maria,” the woman said to Eliza. “We’re just getting started. Would you like to introduce yourself? Just your name, and why you’re here, if you feel comfortable sharing. We’ll go around the room so you can get acquainted with each other. Alexander, if you’ll start? Then we’ll move clockwise.”

“Alexander Hamilton. Bipolar I. Manic, most of the time. Haven’t slept in a week, and that’s dangerous, or something.”

He turned to face a curly-headed boy, who had more freckles than Eliza had seen on a single person before. He was, if she could even admit to herself, pretty cute. There were twin bandages wrapped around his wrists. “Hi,” the boy said, in a soft tone. “I’m John Laurens. And I’m here because of self-harm. Depression too, I guess.”

The door opened and Theodosia entered the room, taking a seat on the couch next to Eliza.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Theodosia said.

“Not a problem,” Maria replied. “We were just introducing ourselves to our newest member of the group.”

“Thomas Jefferson,” said the boy next to Laurens, in an arrogant tone. Unlike the others, in some variation of sweatpants and a t-shirt, he was dressed to the nines in what had to be designer jeans, and a silk T. Eliza had seen his type before, at the brother school of her private, all-girls academy, Nightingale-Bamford. “Borderline Personality Disorder.”

The boy next to him, stocky in nature, looked like he could defeat anyone with a breath. But he was trembling from head to toe. Jefferson reached over and placed his hand reassuringly over the boy’s. “James Madison,” the boy said. “Agoraphobia and panic disorder.” He took short, shallow breaths.

“Deep breaths,” Jefferson said. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Madison shook his head vehemently. Jefferson squeezed his hand. “Breathe with me.”

Madison took a shuddering breath.

“James, is there anything we can do to support you right now?” Maria asked.

“N-no. I’m all right. I think. Thanks, Thomas.”

“Anytime.”

“Shall we pick up where we left off? Theodosia?”

“Sure.” Theodosia brushed back a stray piece of hair. “Theodosia Bartow. Bulimia.”

“Disgusting,” Jefferson muttered under his breath.

“Say that louder, will you, Jefferson?” Alexander snapped.

“I said it was disgusting. I’m entitled to my opinion.”

“And I’m entitled to tell you what a douchecanoe you are.”

Maria held up her hand in a ‘stop’ sign. “Alexander, Thomas, we’re not going down this road again. Thomas, while you are welcome to express an opinion, please do so in a respectful manner, rather than a hurtful commentary on Theodosia’s illness. Alexander, watch your language, please.”

Alexander crossed his arms over his chest, murmuring something that Eliza could not quite make out, but was likely detrimental to Jefferson’s character. Eliza couldn’t quite blame him. While she knew that first impressions were not lasting ones, her first impression of Jefferson was far from favorable.

A silence descended on the room, and Eliza became aware that eyes were on her. Right. Introductions. She could do this.

“I’m Eliza. Eliza Schuyler. And I suppose I’m here because my family thinks I have a problem. With my eating.”

“But you don’t think you have a problem?” Maria asked.

“No, not really.”

She became aware of Alexander’s eyes on her again, like he was trying to figure her out. She was not entirely certain she wanted to be figured out, but there was something that drew her forward towards him, like a moth to a flickering flame. He had broken through her numbness this morning, the first person to do so in months. She had no idea what he actually made her feel, but she was intrigued nonetheless.

“Today, we’re going to talk about anxiety, and try and come up with some more positive coping skills we can utilize, instead of negative or self-destructive ones.”

Immediately, Madison’s hand went up, like a little boy in school.

“Yes, James?”

“Do we have to talk about anxiety?”

“You don’t have to do anything, James. I won’t make you speak if you feel uncomfortable. But I think brainstorming some new ways to face your fears may be helpful.”

Maria uncapped a bright blue marker and began to write on the small whiteboard on the right side of the room. She drew three columns: one marked “fears”, one marked “negative coping skills” and one marked “positive coping skills.” “Would anyone like to share one of their fears with the group?”

Much to Eliza’s surprise, Madison spoke up. “I’m afraid if I leave my house, something terrible will happen to me.”

“Okay. And how do you cope with that fear?”

“I don’t. Not really. I just stay in my room and hide from everything and everyone.”

“Can you think of another way of addressing your fears, and perhaps even diminishing them?”

“I try, but I’m too scared.”

“That’s all right, James. Does anyone have any suggestions for positive coping skills for James?”

“Writing,” says Alexander automatically. “I see you writing in a journal all the time. Maybe writing something creative? Losing yourself in another world usually helps me. You can carry your notebook just about anywhere, and anytime you feel anxious, you can take it out and write.”

“That’s an excellent solution, Alexander.” Maria puts ‘writing’ under the positive coping skills column.

After Alexander breaks the ice, the suggestions come thick and fast. Practicing breathing techniques. Cuddling with the dog. Reaching out to a friend. Drinking a mug of herbal tea.

Eliza felt herself slipping away, lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t know what to say. It seemed too big to mention, the anxiety and perfectionism that had plagued her for as long as she could remember. The desire to be the best, to be better. Strive more. Push harder. It was a Schuyler trait, the desire to succeed, but she knew that if her siblings ever came to find out how much it drove her into darkness, into a deadly split between mind and body, they would stop her from doing everything that kept her safe. Contained. Untouchable. She was afraid to admit how much she relied on her rituals and behaviors, how much she loved them. They could never understand that part of her, even if she could find the words to untangle and explain everything.

“Eliza? Theodosia?” A woman Eliza did not recognize, poked her head in the door. It slowly registered that group was over, that the boys were standing up and walking out of the room. “Could you come with me, please?”

Theodosia lead the way, Eliza followed mechanically. Dread curled in the bottom of her stomach when she realized they were headed to the dining room.

“I’m Molly, the nutritionist here,” the woman said. “Both of you are going to have snack now, and then, Eliza, I’ll meet with you privately.”

“It’s nice to finally have a snack buddy.” Theodosia flopped onto the plastic seat with little care, and reached for the granola bar set in front of her.

Eliza smiled weakly as she eyed the small bowl set in front of her. Yogurt, it looked like. She couldn’t remember the last time she had yogurt.

“I can sit at the table with you if you like,” Molly offered. “And give some additional support.”

Eliza shook her head. She didn’t want a stranger watching her eat. Granted, Theodosia was practically a stranger, too, but at least she was a stranger who understood.

“We’re good, Molly. Honest. You don’t have to stay.” Theodosia fiddled with the foil wrapper on her snack.

“Well, you know I have to stay in the room, Theodosia. But I’ll be in the corner.”

Eliza managed to unstick the words from her throat. “And you’ll be watching us?”

“Not like a hawk. But I do have to make sure you’re not engaging in behaviors.”

Theodosia made a face. “Fine. At least I tried.”

Eliza held onto her spoon with a grip tight enough to nearly snap the plastic. Her vision came in waves. She couldn’t eat. She didn’t want to eat. But the threat from this morning hung over her head. Supplementation. A feeding tube.

“Hey,” Theodosia brought Eliza out of her internal struggle. “Forget about the yogurt, okay? And tell me which one of those boys you find cute.”

Eliza found herself smiling and a rush of gratitude flooded her senses as she took a small bite of peach yogurt. “Okay.”

* * *

 

“So, Eliza, I’m not going to bullshit you.” Molly leaned back in her office chair, which seemed to dwarf her tiny frame. “You’re not going to like me. Not because I’m going out of my way to be terrible person, or hurt you, or anything like that. I’m trying to help. But your eating disorder will hate me.”

“I don’t have an eating disorder.”

“Your body begs to differ. When you were brought into the ER, you were suffering from severe malnutrition.”

Eliza didn’t want to tell her the truth—that there was no way she could be anorexic, she was too fat for it. Not sick enough. She could have done so much more, if she hadn’t been caught. She wasn’t even at her goal weight yet.

“So I’m going to do the thing you’re going to hate me for,” Molly continued. “I will require you to eat. Three meals, three snacks a day. There will be consequences if you don’t. Supplementation. If you refuse supplement, you will be offered a feeding tube. If you refuse that, we will get a court order for one. There’s no negotiating this.”

Eliza wanted to stand up and scream. Be completely out of character and lose it completely. Burn. Burn everything until there was nothing left but ash. But years of being brought up as a Schuyler had her sitting calmly in her chair, as if nothing had happened, as if her world wasn’t falling to pieces. She took a slow breath, tried to slow down the slamming of her irregular heart.

“Is there anything else?”

“We’ll meet twice a week, to discuss any changes to your meal plan, and any issues you may have with food and body image.”

“Can I go now?” Not like there was anywhere to go, but the thought of escaping Molly and her suffocating office made Eliza feel a little less insane.

“Not quite. I need to get some info from you, first.”

“Like what?”

“What was your intake before you ended up in the hospital?”

Eliza paused to take in the loaded question. She could, for all intents and purposes, lie. She lied to her siblings for the past three months. Lied to her parents, to anyone who had actually cared about her. Hell, at this point her whole life was an entire goddamn lie.

Was it stupidity that pushed her towards honesty? Or a disgust at herself and her deceptions? She didn’t know, but the truth came anyway, tripping up her tongue.

“Two hundred calories a day.”

Molly doesn’t react to the number, just scribbles it down on a notepad.

“Any purging behaviors? Laxative or diuretic use?”

“No purging. I stole the diuretics from my mother.”

Catherine Schuyler, society belle, nibbling on a stray piece of lettuce there, half an egg here, always washed down by a pill or two. Never there, always busy, always running from one gala to another. There was a reason the Schuyler siblings always looked out for each other. If they didn’t, who would?

“How long have you been restricting?”

“Since the summer.”

“Okay. Tell me some of your food rules.”

“Food rules?”

“Like, certain restrictions you have around food. Certain behaviors.”

“I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“You’re going to have to, Eliza, if you want to get better.”

“I’m not sure I want to get better.”

“Look, Eliza, I’m not going to lie to you. Recovery will be one of the hardest things you will ever do. A lot of people believe that if you go to the hospital once, you’re cured. Anorexia doesn’t work that way. I personally believe that an eating disorder is not a choice. But recovery is, and you can find empowerment in making that choice. There may not be some brilliant moment where you realize that your behaviors are wrong and you want to do right. Not everyone has that moment. But you can try to work towards recovery, every day.”

Eliza took in her words. Maybe there wouldn’t be a miracle, or some sort of saving grace. Maybe she didn’t even want one. But she appreciated Molly’s words, her honesty. She knew she wasn’t some heroine in a book, where she decided to get better, and everything would magically work out for her because she made that decision.

“Unfortunately, we are out of time for now. But I’ll see you, two days from now. In the meantime, I believe you can join the others for their fresh air break. And Sybil will want an individual session with you this afternoon.”

“Who’s Sybil?”

“Sybil Ludington, your individual therapist. You will see her three times a week.”

“Okay.”

Molly smiled at her. “Go get your coat and enjoy the weather before it starts snowing.”

Eliza wanted to race back to her room, giddy at the thought of tasting the outside air, of that little bit of freedom. But as soon as she picked up the pace, her head spun and her heart pounded in her chest and she fell off balance. So she resigned herself to a slower pace and joined the rest of them outside, her thoughts spinning from anorexia, to recovery, to, inexplicably, Alexander Hamilton.


	4. Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza doesn't know how to have emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon for Sybil Ludington is Lucy Liu as Joan Watson in Elementary.

She was freezing. The sun peeked between grey clouds, teasing her with warmth that never quite reached her bones. She burrowed deeper into her wool peacoat, but it wasn’t enough. The winter wind cut through her body, and she found herself shaking again.

Thomas Jefferson and James Madison were huddled together, Jefferson whispering something low and rhythmic to the nervous, twitchy boy. Whatever he was saying seemed to have a soothing effect, as Madison’s body slowly lost some of its tension.

The courtyard was small and fenced in and there were several benches and potted plants scattered around the depressing concrete. If it weren’t winter, Eliza would have been brainstorming ways to improve the garden, of adding more colorful flowers and maybe even a few trees.  Eliza had kept a small garden back home, in pots mostly, but her careful work ensured that the Schuyler family had plenty of fresh herbs to use in cooking.

Alexander and Laurens sat side by side on one of the benches, peering over what appeared to be a notebook of some kind. Alexander looked up when she approached, breaking the spell between him and the curly-haired boy.

“Hey,” Alexander said, waving her over.

She approached them the way she approached most people now: slowly, and with cautious steps. Her head was still spinning from earlier, and she had a hard time steadying herself.

_I must look like a drunk_ , she thought as she watched Alexander scoot over to make room for her on the bench.

“Laurens is showing me his sketchbook. You should take a look. He’s incredible.”

Laurens looked abashed at Alexander’s praise, and dipped his head downward, fingers nervously tracing the bandages around his wrists. “I’m not that good,” he said.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Alexander replied.

Eliza tentatively took a seat next to Alexander, and peered over at the sketchbook. He was right; Laurens was incredible. The page was filled with small sketches of turtles, in exact shading, crosshatch and detail.

“Why turtles?” She found herself asking.

“I just really like them. They’re fascinating to me. A lot of small details, like the patterns on their shells, see,” Laurens said, pointing at the delicate pattern he had sketched out. “But that’s not the only thing I draw.” He turned the page, to show the likeness of a skeletal tree, swaying in the wind. “That’s the view from my room here.” He flipped through another page, past sketches of hands, to a profile that Eliza recognized instantly. It was an exact likeness of Alexander, from the bright snap of his dark eyes to the rounded edge of his chin, that hinted at stubbornness.

_He really is handsome._ The thought caught her by surprise, and she flushed instantly.  She felt exposed, as if she had spoken the words aloud instead of merely thinking them.

Alexander, though, took her reddened cheeks as a sign of the wind, and not of the embarrassment that flooded her body. “Here,” he said, wrapping one arm around Eliza, and the other around Laurens, “Laurens and I will keep you warm.”

She should have just been grateful for the body heat. For the kindness. But as she found herself squished between Alexander and Laurens, her mind snapped awake from the frozen half-life she had kept herself in for months. Every sense was heightened, from the smell of smog and diesel from the city, to hearing the thrum of Alexander’s heartbeat. It was her body that surprised her the most, responding to Alexander’s. For a brief, fleeting second, she wanted nothing more than to pin him to the ground and have her way with him. The feeling was so foreign, so overwhelming, that it startled her and she shrank back. She had boyfriends before, had engaged in a little more than kissing. But usually for mere curiosity, wondering what would happen next. Not this lust, this feeling that stole all the breath from her lungs and left her helpless.

She forced herself out of the embrace. “I should go back inside,” she said quickly, tripping over her words. “Thank you for letting me see your drawings.”

She wanted to run away, not for the first time today, run until she could no longer feel anything but the burn in her muscles. Instead, her stupid weak body stumbled through the constant dizziness, and she hated herself even more.

* * *

 

“So, Eliza, I’m Sybil.” The petite Asian woman held out her hand for Eliza to shake. Her nails were bright purple. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Sybil’s office was small but cozy. There was a rocking chair in one corner, a small couch on the far end. The couch was covered in velvet pillows and a hand-knitted afghan. Eliza was still trembling from cold. She reached over and wrapped the afghan around her, settling into the rocking chair. The movement calmed her frazzled nerves.

“Cold? Do you need me to get the space heater?” Sybil crossed the room to where there was a small closet.

Eliza nodded weakly. Sybil pulled the small heater out of the closet, placed it at Eliza’s feet, and plugged it in.

There was a file on Sybil’s cherry-wood desk; Eliza vaguely wondered what was in there. Sybil rested one hand on it, but didn’t open it. “So, from my understanding, your sisters checked you in.”

“Siblings,” Eliza said automatically. “Peggy is genderqueer.”

“Siblings, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to misgender—what pronouns does Peggy use?”

“They/them.”

“All right. My apologies for misgendering them. But your older sister, Angelica, was very worried about you when she called our helpline last week. I don’t want to sound condescending when I ask this, but did you get some sense as to why she’s so concerned?”

Eliza frowned. “I’m kind of sick of that question. Everyone asking me why I’m here, everyone expecting me to say some sort of problem that I don’t think I have.”

Sybil nodded. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to hear your voice—not the doctor’s, not your sister’s. I don’t mean to make it sound repetitive. Can you tell me why you don’t think you have a problem?”

Eliza tried to think of some lie, something to keep Sybil from questioning her. But her mind was blank. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Eliza, the only way this is going to work is if you are completely honest with me. If you aren’t, we’re both wasting our time.”

Eliza wanted to argue, but her essential nature, her desire to please people, won over. It always would. “Okay.” She took a breath. Her thoughts were clashing together in evil circles, reminding her how fat she was, how unworthy she was of the diagnosis of anorexia. Couldn’t they see that? Or were their eyes broken? “I’m too fat to be anorexic,” she admitted.

Sybil got up and walked towards a bookshelf on the far wall. She pulled a large, black book off the shelf and opened it.

“The DSM five,” Eliza said automatically. She had been itching to get her hands on the updated version for a while now; they had discussed the changes to the volume in her AP Psychology class.

“Yes,” Sybil said. She turned the pages. “I want your treatment here to be the best it can be. That means keeping up with the latest evidence-based science on anorexia. I could show you the diagnostic criteria for anorexia nervosa.” She handed Eliza the book. “If you find it helpful. But I get the feeling that you’ve been told that a lot lately.”

“Kind of.” Eliza scanned the page. Secession of periods, intense fear of gaining weight, a weight loss of 85% of her original body weight or more. “It’s an issue with my mind. Intellectually, I can look at this DSM and check off the list, here, here, and here. I match up, and a part of me is pretty damn pleased with myself.” She closed the heavy book and handed it back to Sybil. “But another part of me screams that I’m the fattest person in the entire treatment center.”

“Would it be fair to label that other part of you as your eating disorder?”

Eliza paused. She hadn’t known how it had happened. She had not asked anorexia permission to enter her body, her mind, her soul. And she had become so caught up in every part of it, in the calorie counting, the obsessive hours spent in front of mirrors, feeling her bones, in the food rituals she performed with every morsel of she put into her body. She hadn’t thought to separate herself from those things, and if she were being honest, she didn’t know where Eliza was underneath it all. She questioned if she ever knew herself to begin with.

“I don’t know where it begins and I end,” she admitted. “I may have only been using restricting for a few months, but the thoughts have been there for as long as I can remember. This is so snarled up I don’t know how to start.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” Sybil promised. “But it’s going to be a process. And it’s going to make you feel uncomfortable most of the time.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” Eliza wrapped the afghan tighter around her spindly frame.

“That’s okay, too,” Sybil said. “Most of the time, you’re not ready for recovery when it happens. You probably don’t even want it right now. The wanting comes later. At first, your eating disorder will fight with everything it has to stay. You’ll fall, and you won’t know how to pick yourself up again. But that’s what I’m for. And your siblings. The people you love will be there when you don’t know which path to take.”

“I’m ashamed,” Eliza admitted, too quiet to be heard.

“What was that?”

“I’m ashamed,” she said, a little louder. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding my siblings. Well, partially.”

“What are you ashamed of?”

“I don’t know, honest. I wish I did.” Eliza closed her eyes. Her head was spinning again. She didn’t trust herself to stand up.

“That’s something we can talk about, definitely.” A timer next to Sybil’s clocked dinged. She looked at it and frowned. “Unfortunately, we’re out of time for this session. But it’s been good meeting you, Eliza, and I look forward to working with you. We’ll meet again, two days from now. In the meantime, try and see if there’s anyone here you feel comfortable reaching out to, if you need to. I know you may not be able to yet, but it’s important to remember that we’re all here to support you in recovery.”

The words were slightly lost on Eliza. There was a low hum buzzing in her ears. She shed the afghan and stood up, slowly, taking care not to betray her dizziness to Sybil. The last thing she wanted was people fussing over her.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice feeling tinny. Her voice cracked. When had she last drunk water? They had given her fluids in the hospital, an IV she had desperately wanted to rip out. But she had grown to hate drinking, hate putting anything in her body.

Her hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as she fiddled with the door handle.

_Be normal. Don’t show anything’s wrong._ She forced the handle it opened, colliding with something solid she wasn’t expecting.

Alexander, sitting up against the wall, hands tapping out a rhythm on his thighs. Always moving, never still. Eliza blinked, and the image of him cleared up. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

“It’s fine, really—“

His lips were moving and he was talking, but Eliza couldn’t hear his words. They were speaking underwater, in another language, something she couldn’t interpret. She knew it was going to happen before it did. Her vision doubled, then split, then everything fell black as she lost consciousness completely.


	5. A Laurens Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Laurens Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I thought that, as much as this is Eliza's story, I wanted to do more character exploration with everyone, so I've decided to do little "interludes" from the POV of the others. Also, I'm a major sucker for some lams, ft. pining. I couldn't write a Hamilton fic and not have lams. And idk, when I write Laurens, I always imagined him referring to Hamilton as "Alex" but Eliza refers to him as "Alexander." Just linguistic differences. Comments are love!

Thirty-one days. Thirty one days since he had realized the truth. A truth that nagged at him every second of every day, driving him mad with the possibilities. The possibilities he could have, if he dared to open his mouth and speak. It was strange, usually he had no problem talking to Alex. In fact, their excessive talking had landed them in trouble more than once at school. Well, Alex’s expression of his opinions did, and honestly, John wasn’t much better when it came to that, particularly on the subject of racial inequalities.

But when it came to this…when it came to this in particular, John was hopelessly stuck for words. Without thinking, he fiddled with the bandages at his wrists, his new nervous habit. Before he had cut too deep and landed in this particular predicament, he used to trace his old scars obsessively, something that had driven Alex crazy. He was the one who convinced John to give up the cutting, when he had found out about it. That had lasted all of six months, all the way up until John had realized exactly how he felt. And subsequently trying to carve it out of his body, out of his mind, drawing the thin red lines in places that Alex would never see.

Being in love was not what it was cracked up to be. Maybe it would be different if the object of John’s affections felt the same way. But Alex wasn’t a tomcat for no reason whatsoever. Openly bisexual, effortlessly charming, Alex had never been short of dates anywhere. Meanwhile, John had stumbled behind him, hiding his feelings desperately. Not just from Alex, but from the whole world. He was a liar. Worse than a liar—a fraud.

“John.” One of the nurses poked her head into the dayroom. “Come on back to the nurse’s station, so we can check your bandages.”

He followed obediently, looking down at his feet as he crossed the white-speckled linoleum tiles. “Take a seat,” the nurse said, “Phyllis will be with you in a minute.”

John sunk into the plastic chair, crossing his arms over his chest. The nurse’s station was quiet at this time of day, with medications already dispensed. Some of the women had already pulled their lunches out of the communal fridge and were munching on sandwiches as they glanced at cursory paperwork.

Phyllis, a tall-dark skinned woman in light blue scrubs, came over to John. “Let’s take a look at how things are healing up.”

She unwrapped the bandages with a light touch, scanning the stitches. “I expect they’ll be pulling out the stitches in about two weeks. Once it’s healed, we’ll rub some vitamin E oil on—“

“We need a nurse over here!” Alex’s voice, not with his usual bravado. He sounded downright terrified.

John looked over to where there was the half-door, half window that sealed off the nurse’s station. Alex was pressed up against the window, propping up a dazed-looking Eliza, who was so pale as to look almost translucent.

“I’m fine, Alexander, honestly,” she said, exasperation in her voice.

“Like hell you are! You passed out over me!”

At the words ‘passed out’, Phyllis moved into action, opening up the door and ushering Eliza in with no regard to the girl’s protestations. She pulled up a chair next to John. “You’re going to sit here,” Phyllis said. “Head between the knees. Deep breaths. I’m going to grab a cuff so I can get your vitals.”

Alexander, short as he was, stood on the tips of his toes. “What can I do?” He called out to Phyllis, who returned with a small blood pressure machine on a wheeled cart.

“You can go back to the group room,” Phyllis said shortly, turning her attention back to Eliza. “Are you dizzy at all?”

“A little,” Eliza mumbled.

“But I can help, I can do something—“ Alex ran a hand through his messy hair; John noticed that his fingers were shaking.

“Alexander, there is simply not enough room for you in such a small space,” Phyllis said, and John could see her point. “Please go back to the group room, and we’ll take care of Miss Schuyler.”

“But—“

“Alex.” John stood up and placed his hands on Alex’s shoulders, locking eyes with him. “It’s okay. I swear.”

It was never Alex’s nature to back down from a fight, but as he opened his mouth to start arguing with him again, John turned him around and pushed him out the door. Phyllis closed it behind him. They could both hear Alex swearing on the other side, but Phyllis tactfully decided to ignore it, fitting the blood pressure cuff on Eliza’s thin arm.

The machine beeped, and Phyllis brandished a thermometer. “Open your mouth,” she instructed, and Eliza obeyed, letting the thermometer stay underneath her tongue. “Let me take your pulse.”

John took the opportunity, while Phyllis fussed over her, to really study Eliza. He had seen her in group, of course, and in the courtyard. But it had been hard to get over her appearance, even if he thought he was better than that. She must have been a beauty once, he could tell. Wide brown eyes, framed by long lashes. Dark hair that must have been luscious and silky at one point, now hung by her shoulders, stringy and brittle. And bones. Bones everywhere. Her cheekbones jutted out, as did her collarbones. Her arms and legs mere sticks that did not look like they could handle what little weight she had left. Unlike Alexander, who was all motion and energy, never a moment of quiet platitude, Eliza was Quaker-like in her stillness. Hands folded neatly on her lap, in an unsettling silence. She was fragile, but not in that overly romantic way that most people placed on anorexia. No, this was an ugly fragility, death turned inside out, that made John feel uncomfortable, and lost. His feet itched to take him away. He swallowed the feeling. He had to reach out.

“Hey,” he said softly, as Phyllis buzzed around them, writing down numbers and handing Eliza some orange juice to drink.

“Hey,” she said back. “I think I scared your friend. I didn’t mean to.”

John heard a muffled “I’m fine” from the other side of the door, which he ignored. Alex would never admit when anything actually bothered him like that. Pissed him off, yes. Frightened him? Never.

Phyllis returned with a small pack of medical supplies. “Eliza, I’m going to have to draw some labs. We thought your electrolytes were stable when you left the ER, but there was a week between when you left there and when you admitted here. Were you restricting or purging during that time?”

“I don’t purge,” she said between tight lips.

“Arm out, make a fist, please.” Eliza did as she was told. John didn’t think it was possible for the girl to get any paler, but he was wrong.

“Talk,” she said to him, suddenly.

“What?”

“Talk, please. About something. Anything.”

“Uh, okay, sure. I could tell you embarrassing stories about Alex.”

“Don’t you dare!” said Alex from the other side of the door.

Eliza laughed. “You two seem to know each other pretty well.”

“We’ve been best friends since freshman year, since we were both new kids. We both have—well, it’s complicated. Alex’s foster father, Mr. Washington, is both my and other friend Lafayette’s host father. Laf’s only been in America for a year, though.”

Eliza made a little squeaking sound when the needle pierced her skin. Biting her lip, there is a pleading look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Phyllis said. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

“Uh, I’m from South Carolina,” he said all in a rush, though he didn’t usually like to think about home. “Oh! And you can meet Lafayette tonight, during visiting hours. He usually comes about once a week. Sometimes he brings Mulligan with him, too.”

“Hercules Mulligan, the guy who runs a coffee shop on the West Side?”

“The one and only. That place is like our second home. Herc’s the greatest.”

“That’s my sister’s favorite place, too. I was there the day I…well…” she looked down at her lap. “I left the place in a stretcher. Not my best moment.”

Kind of an understatement, he thought, but there was something measured about her, like she didn’t let a single word cross her lips without rehearsing it in her mind about three times.

He didn’t know what to say to that. He wished he did, but words weren’t his specialty; they were Alex’s. And Alex, while he could have his moments of fucking wisdom, had so many words running into each other and crashing and burning that it could be hard to unearth anything. Especially when he was in a manic phase.

So, instead of speaking, he reached over and held her hand, which was ice-cold. “Sorry,” he said. “If you don’t want to be touched. I should have asked.”

“It’s okay.” She gave him a ghost of a smile. “You’re a good hand-holder.”

And damn if he didn’t think of Alex. Who, of course, felt the need to speak up.

“That’s what I tell him all the time,” came Alex’s voice.

She cocked her head towards the door, asking the inevitable question that left him with a hollow emptiness in every part of his being. He shook his head.

It was Phyllis who broke the moment, capping the last tube. “All done. Let me just grab a wrap. What color would you like—purple, blue, or green?”

“Blue, please.”

“Okay. Going to take the needle out now. Take a deep breath.”

Eliza squeezed his hand when the offending object was removed, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. Phyllis turned her attention back to John. “You’re free to go, John. Eliza, I’d like you to stay here and drink another juice. We’re going to rush these results as much as we can, in the meantime, I want to keep your blood sugar on the uptick.”

John looked over at Eliza. He didn’t want to leave her there alone, but his heart was pounding against his ribcage. He felt like he needed to escape everything. At least for a few minutes. If only he could leave behind the constant stream of negative admonitions in his mind.

In the end, compromise: he and Alex huddled up against the door/window of the nurse’s station, waiting for Eliza. Hands intertwined with everything he wanted and everything he could never, ever have.


	6. So I May Have Lied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She broke at dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I played Contact at my treatment center, and tried to explain it the best way I could. I hope it makes sense. Also, I realized this fic may have more chapters than I originally planned for, so that should be interesting.

She broke at dinner.

Holding everything back, walking through a fog, she could barely remember what happened in the other groups of the day. Everything came into focus when she was presented with her dinner. Chicken on a bed of rice, with some greens on the side. Nothing much. At least, it shouldn’t be. But as Eliza stared down at her plate, she felt terror in her bones. It was stupid, she knew intellectually that there was nothing scary about food, that it was all in her head, but damn, that didn’t change how it felt, to be faced with a full plate and no way out.

The clock was ticking, and she cut off a small piece of chicken and stuck it in her mouth. Chewing. Swallowing. Taking another bite, the whole plate looming before her. Then, the scrape of chairs against floor. Three, to be exact.

Alexander, John, and Theodosia. Theodosia gave her a warm smile. “We weren’t about to leave you all by yourself.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said. Another bite. This was hell. Pure hell. Her hands began to shake again; she can barely get the fork in her mouth.

Usually, she was a gifted conversationalist. Not with the bright wit of Angelica, but she took a certain pride in being able to make people feel at ease, and spinning stories. Now, her mind was blank, stuck only in what was in front of her. She wanted to hide that she was struggling, but here her pain spilled out in plain view.

“Tell you what,” Theodosia said after a moment. “I’ll teach you something that helped me. You’re going to like it too, Alex.”

He had his elbows on the table, leaning forward in his eagerness. “What?”

“It’s a game called Contact. A word game. Here’s how it works. One of the players picks a word—any word—and the others have to guess what it is, letter by letter. But how they guess is through questions. For example, we know what the first letter is, starting off. But we must ask the person with the word a general question. For instance, is it an animal? And they get three guesses that could possibly be an answer. If two players are thinking of the same answer to the question, they have contact. They count backward from three and say the answer at the same time. If they match, the person with the word has to reveal a new letter. This goes on until the word is guessed, or revealed.”

“Goddamn it, Alex is going to have too much fun with this,” John said, looking over at his friend, who had a wide grin on his face.

“Hell yeah I am. Can it be in other languages?”

“Not unless everybody playing knows the same language.”

“I’ll still fucking best you, Theodosia,” Alexander rubbed his hands together.

Theodosia shook her head. “I’d like to see you try, Hamilton. I’m going to start. Word begins with a C.”

Eliza was intrigued despite herself. Snapped out of her frost, she found herself venturing a question. “Is it an animal?”

Theodosia marked off guesses with her fingers. “It’s not a cheetah.” The other three shook their heads. “Okay. It’s not a chimp.”

“Contact.” Alexander made eye contact with Eliza, motioning with his hands.

“Contact?’” She said, more of a question than a statement.

“I’ve got one more guess,” Theodosia pointed out. “Hmmm. It’s not a cat.”

“Damn,” John mumbled.

“Do you still have contact?” Theodosia asked Eliza and Alexander. Both nodded, Alexander more confident than Eliza.

“Okay. Three, two, one, go.”

“Caterpillar,” they both said at the same time.

She was rewarded with Alexander’s smile, and she found herself smiling back as she put another bite of dinner into her mouth.

“I mean, technically it’s an insect, not an animal, but it’s close enough,” he said.

“Either way, we were on the same page.” She realized she wanted to keep up with him; she had never thought of herself as particularly smart, or much of anything, really, but she could tell he was brilliant. She wanted to be considered brilliant in her own right.

There was a moment there, a brief moment, where it looked like he was going to say something else, something not meant for Theodosia or John to hear, there was a lightness in his liquid dark eyes and she wanted to hear it more than she had wanted anything in her life.

“C—O—“ Theodosia said, breaking the spell.

Eliza blinked. Right. The game. Dinner. The clock ticking. And the clock ticked without her, as the game moved on. John guessed the word correctly—constellation—and Alexander was put out that it was something so simple that had slipped his mind. Then came the inevitable moment, when everyone’s tray was empty but hers.

“What flavor would you like, Eliza?” Phyllis asked her with gentleness but it did little to soften the blow.

The sense of failure was profound. Perfectionism went both ways and even though she didn’t feel like she wanted to recover, she wanted to please, wanted to be better than the pathetic girl sitting right here, ready to cry over chicken and wilted lettuce. That was when the realization hit her, after the other three had left and she was there, alone with a glass of supplement. She couldn’t do this. It was impossible. Recovery was something other people could reach, not her. She didn’t know how she drank the supplement, holding back the inevitable tears. As soon as she got the okay, she ran down the hallway, ran down to her room, the sobs escaping even as she tried to hold back. Tears poured down her face, snot was flowing freely from her nose, and her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath and failed.

She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, and didn’t care. So, of course, she smacked straight into him.

“Eliza?”

“Alexander?” At least, she tried to say his name, but strongly suspected that all that came out was a mishmash of syllables.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” His voice was soft, softer than she had heard before.

“I can’t—“ She choked on her tears again, “I can’t—I can’t do this.”

Almost as if by magic, he pulled a white, square cloth out of the pocket of his jacket, and handed it to her. “Here. I don’t like tissues.”

Eliza nodded gratefully and began dabbing at her eyes. “I guess it’s more environmentally friendly,” she said, trying to regain control over her voice.

“Honestly, I think it’s more dashing. But that’s neither here or nor there.” He waved away his words with the brush of a hand. “Do you want to talk? I share a room with Laurens but I could kick him out for an hour; he doesn’t care.”

“Won’t you get into trouble, with a girl in your room?”

“Not if the door is open.”

Eliza considered his proposal. She could retreat to her own room and lick her wounds, but she wouldn’t have privacy there, either, with Theodosia as a roommate. As much as she knew Theodosia would understand, understand better than anybody, she didn’t really want to talk to someone who knew her dark corners before she could identify them herself.

“I suppose,” she said. She didn’t even know if she had the words to describe what she was feeling. But she couldn’t deny that she was drawn to Alexander, though she had no idea in what way. Maybe he could help; see something she couldn’t.

He held out his hand to her. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it.

“Yo,” Alexander said to Laurens, who was sprawled out on his bed, flipping through a book.

“What’s up?”

“You okay with giving us a little space?”

John closed the book and got up. “Not a problem. I’ll see if I can find a new way to piss off Jefferson.” Though his voice sounded nonchalant, Eliza could see pain flicker in his eyes. Something was eating away at him, and she wanted to help, but she didn’t know how to broach the subject. Useless. She was useless.

“You could sit here,” Alexander gestured to his bed. “I mean, I don’t know if Laurens would mind if you sat on his bed, I should have asked—“ He seemed nervous, his dark eyes darting.

“It’s fine, Alexander.” She took a seat on the edge of the bed, still clinging to the handkerchief.

He took a seat on the opposite end of the bed from her. Running his hand through his messy ponytail. Definitely nervous, she decided. His side of the room was equally covered in papers as Laurens’, but instead of sketches, there were words. Words scrawled on scraps of papers, half poems, essays, whatever. She was curious about his words, but didn’t ask. Not yet, at least.

“What’s going on?” He asked, and that simple question brought the tears to the surface again. She lost control quickly, giving in to heaving breaths and half sobs. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset again.”

“I just can’t do this,” she said between the tears and the snot. She knew she had reached a new low. She usually prided herself on keeping a smooth façade in front of others. Emotions were saved for the privacy of her own room, her own space, where she could do whatever she wanted. Not in front of virtual strangers. Her siblings were different. All knew the Schuyler way of putting forth a good face for the sake of the family, but they never hid the way she did, never ran away like she did.

“Can’t do what?” Alexander asked gently.

“Recovery. Eating. Life. I don’t know. I just don’t think I can survive this, day in and day out eating three meals a day, eating instead of what I usually do.”

“Which is?”

“Not eating,” she admitted, twisting the damp handkerchief around her fingers. “But I don’t have a problem. I’m fine. I just want to be left alone. I’m not hungry, I don’t need food, I can manage just fine on my own.”

“Look.” Alexander leaned in closer. “I’m not here to judge you. Or tell you how to live your life. Not my job, and hell, I wouldn’t know, anyway. I get the feeling we live two very different lives, and we barely know each other. Not my place. But I can give you support and tell you that it might be easier not to think of things so broadly. It gets too overwhelming that way. I know I do. My mind races a million miles, pouring together connections I never saw, never dreamed of, until I’m drowning so thick and so fast I can’t breathe.”  He drummed his fingers on the bedspread. “Just try taking a breath. And breaking things up into something more manageable. Don’t think about getting through the rest of the day. Just think about this moment.”

Eliza knew he had point, but it still seemed impossible. “I’m pretty terrible at staying in the moment,” she admitted.

He nodded. “So am I. It’s just something my foster father would tell me to do. I don’t know, I think he’s smart enough. Knows a thing or two about life. I’m just shitty at taking advice.”

There was the sound of footsteps in the hallway and she could see the naked panic in his face. “Quick!” He motioned to the side of the bed.

“What?”

“Get down,” he hissed.

She was slow on the uptake, slow on what he was implying, and quick as you please, he had his arm around her waist and was pulling her down the other side of the bed, the side not facing the door. They were face to face, her body on top of his, practically kissing. Which she wasn’t going to lie, was a passing thought in her mind with him in such close proximity, with the yearning she had felt before, out in the courtyard. But, primarily, she was pissed, and pissed took precedence.

“What the hell, Alexander?” She whispered, trying to adjust her body that so that she was no longer straddling him, with little success.

“So I may have lied,” he said in a low tone.

“Lied about what?”

“Well…we’re technically not supposed to have members of the opposite sex in our rooms. But you needed help. And I think that rule is uselessly heteronormative.”

“I don’t need help that badly. Though you might have a point on that heteronormativity part.”

She felt the anger melt from her body just a little. Which was a damn shame, she noted, because it allowed other feelings in. Feelings that she was not prepared to deal with. So she went back to being angry. She tried to straighten up. “I’m out of here.”

“Just wait until the nurse passes.” His breath was a whisper on her skin, and involuntarily, she shivered. She had never had such an overt wanting before, a desire to do so many things she’d rather not name to herself.

“Alex?” The nurse stuck her head into the room, and Alexander popped up like a rabbit in a hat.

“Yes?”

“What were you doing on the floor?”

“Oh, uh, I dropped my pen.”

“Okay. Have you seen Eliza? I’m doing nightly rounds, and I haven’t seen her yet.”

Eliza froze in place, daring not to breathe, to do anything.

“I think she’s in her room. Having a heart to heart with Theodosia.”

“Hmmm. I didn’t see her, but I’ll check again. Oh, and Alex? You and John have visitors.”

“Right. Be right there.”

There was the sound of footsteps again, and Eliza sat up, straightening her hair. “I’m definitely gone.”

Alexander nodded. “Let me check the hallway.” He parted from her, and poked his head out the door. “You’re good.”

She stumbled to her feet and sat up too quickly; she was dizzy again, the room moving in undulating waves. She forced herself to move forward as if nothing were wrong.

Alexander leaned up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll be by your room to pick you up in a few.”

“Why?”

“You haven’t met Lafayette yet.”


	7. Bones Wrapped in Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza meets Lafayette; sees herself clearly for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long; I've had a crazy two weeks. Enjoy an extra-long chapter instead. Just a few quick notes:  
> 1\. More Laurens! Yay Laurens; I love writing him so much  
> 2\. Shout-out to Stephan for looking this over  
> 3\. I have no confidence in my ability to write the Hamilsquad, but as I get more confident in doing so, expect them to show up more often  
> 4\. Just as a personal note, my mom said if I maintain my weight for two months and stay behavior-free, she'll get me the Hamiltome, so wish me luck y'all!  
> 5\. Come find me on Tumblr and we'll nerd out about Hamilton together @piecesofkessa

“Eliza.” A nurse she didn’t recognize (did they all blend together after a while?) crooked a finger at her. “We need you at the nurse’s station for vitals. Theodosia, you’re up next.”

Eliza glanced over at Theodosia. “Again?” She had already had her blood pressure checked twice today.

“Privilege of having an eating disorder,” Theodosia replied. “Vitals at all times of the day.”

“I’m supposed to meet Alexander. He wants me to meet a friend of his.”

“Oh, Lafayette’s great. You’ll like him.”

“Are you going to be joining us?”

Theodosia shook her head. “I have my own visitor tonight.”

Eliza felt another swoop of dizziness, and closed her eyes. “Have fun.” She swayed a little as she walked out and Theodosia reached out to steady her.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eliza lied. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll walk you over,” Theodosia offered.

“No, really, I’m fine. Go enjoy your visit.”

Theodosia beamed. “Okay. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

She disappeared, and Eliza made the precarious journey to the nurses’ station, one hand on the wall to help keep balance. This was not lost on the night shift nurse, who escorted her to a chair with a frown.

“Are you feeling dizzy?”

“A little,” she admitted, figuring it didn’t matter enough to make a difference. She didn’t even bother to mention the chest pains that radiated out to her left shoulder.

The nurse fitted the blood pressure cuff around her petite arm. “Stick this under your tongue.” She brandished a thermometer, and Eliza obeyed.

The blood pressure tightened, and released. Eliza couldn’t see the numbers, but it didn’t matter anyway. The nurse scribbled them onto a piece of paper, frowning.

“Something wrong?” Eliza asked lightly.

“Yes, actually. The notes on your file said you passed out today?”

“Just for a few seconds. It’s not much of a problem.”

“It’s a very big problem. Your numbers are not where they need to be, and I’m very concerned. Give me a moment, I’m going to speak with the head nurse about what we can do. Your vitals are unstable at best.”

Eliza slumped in her chair a little as the nurse disappeared. How could her body be falling apart like this? She was just fine two weeks ago; she had run five miles. Sure, her memory and concentration weren’t what they used to be, sure she would black out at times, sure, she was dizzy constantly, but she was fine. She could handle this on her own. Her heart beat erratically. This was ridiculous.

The nurse returned. “So, we have a solution for you.”

“Yes?”

“Both the head nurse and I agree that something needs to be done until your vitals stabilize. Your body is not in a place where you can be exerting yourself. So we want you in a wheelchair until your blood pressure reaches a less dangerous level. It will probably take a few days before things correct themselves. Honestly, the hospital should not have let you go in the state you were in.”

Eliza dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, her voice shaking. “And if I refuse?”

“We’ll send you back to the hospital until you’re stable again. I’d recommend keeping you on bedrest while you’re there.”

Eliza took her words into consideration. Back to the hospital, back to a needle in her arm and hours spent staring at walls, feeling weak and sick and useless. No. She’d never. “I’ll take the chair,” she muttered, unable to look the nurse in the eye.

“That’s what I thought.”

As Eliza made her way down the hall in the chair, the last thing she wanted to do was see Alexander and John and whoever their visitor was. Lafayette, she thought his name may have been. Of course, Alexander would spot her.

“Hey!” He wore a wide smile, and waved over at her.  “Are you okay?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Well, Lafayette is here, and he can’t wait to meet you.” Alexander pointed towards a figure in a blue jacket, who Eliza swore looked exactly like Thomas Jefferson, albeit dressed less flashy.

“Five minutes. Then I have to…” Eliza struggled to find an excuse. “Do something.”

Did she imagine it, or did Alexander look disappointed? “Sure, sure. Laf, this is Eliza, the girl I told you all about.”

Lafayette had a charming smile, more so than anyone Eliza had ever met. She put out her hand for him to shake, and he took it, pressing the tender skin against his lips. “Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She felt a little bit of her sourness melt away. “Eliza Schuyler. The pleasure is all mine.”

“Please, call me Lafayette.”

“See, isn’t she beautiful?” Alexander said to Lafayette, in French.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to speak about someone in another language, Alexander? Even though I appreciate the compliment.” Eliza replied, in near-perfect French.

“Oh shit,” John laughed, sitting on top of one of the tables in the common space. “She got you, dude.”

She had never seen Alexander blush until that moment, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Part of her wanted to make him blush again, just to see the rosy flush creep up his neck and highlight his sharp cheekbones.

“Whatever, Laurens,” Alexander said weakly.

Eliza forced herself to refocus, trying to keep her spinning mind away from Alexander and instead of Lafayette. “Would you prefer to speak in French, Lafayette? I’m fairly comfortable conversationally.”

“I would love to, _cherie._ ”

“Still going to be speaking English, yo. I understand y’all well enough, but my spoken French isn’t…well, it’s embarrassing. Spanish is a different story.” John cracked his knuckles and Eliza cringed a little at the sound.

“Y’all?” Alexander gave him a withering look.

“I’ve done my best to get rid of most of the South Carolina in me, but I argue y’all is the perfect gender neutral pronoun. Fight me.”

Alexander pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. “I’ll just kick your ass at poker tonight.”

“Want to bet on it?” Laurens grabbed the cards out of his hands and began shuffling them.

“Ten bucks says I’ll slaughter you.”

“Only ten bucks, Alex, really?”

“Not all of us grew up loaded like you and Lafayette.”

“Wait—“ Lafayette held up a hand. “Your bet is utterly pointless, because you both know who is the real winner here.”

“Please, Laf. You can’t win without cheating.” Alexander rolled his eyes.

“You insult me, Alexander.” Lafayette put one hand over his chest.

Laurens began to deal out cards, and nodded towards Eliza. “You in? It’s kind of a tradition with us. Friday nights, we play poker.”

Eliza looked around at the eager faces crowded around the table, at the life in their eyes, the indescribable energy they got from each other. It reminded her of her siblings, how they used to do everything together, having their own Friday night sleepover, all piling into Angelica’s bed and spending the whole night talking. Her heart ached.

“I—I don’t think I can.” The flowery French stumbled across her tongue. “Like I said, I have something to do.”

She wanted to close her eyes to the look of disappointment she could see in them. Did she imagine it, or did Alexander’s shoulders slump?

“It’s perfectly fine _, cherie_.  You attend to your business, and perhaps next time, we shall gather together. Until we meet again.” Lafayette bent down and kissed her hand once more.

She didn’t know what to say to Alexander and Laurens, so she said nothing at all, her mind reeling. As she curled up in her bed, knees tucked up to her chest, she could hear shouting and laughing coming from the common space. Her heart thumped, and she tried her best to ignore the yearning she felt, the desire for human company. As her thoughts unwound, she realized there was another desire too, one that was so frightening she knew it could never win, could never be allowed to dominate. The desire for Alexander himself, to be part of his world.

She cried herself to sleep that night.

* * *

 

They had free time for an hour after in the morning, after the first group. Eliza watched as everyone went their separate ways, Alexander muttering something about an essay, Theodosia off to read a book. Only Jefferson and Madison paired off, braving the winter winds for a chance at fresh air. Eliza stayed behind in the group room, wishing for a little peace away from everyone and everything. An impossible order, of course. It was her nature to seek out little spaces, somewhere she could be alone for a few minutes, try and let everything swirling in her mind a chance at calm.

As soon as the door opened, she cringed. She should have known she wouldn’t be alone for long. Then she saw the curls, and the freckles, and smiled a little. If she were to have company, John Laurens certainly wasn’t bad.

“Sorry,” he said, sketchbook tucked under his arm. “I can go, if you want me to.”

“It’s okay,” she found herself saying, out of sheer politeness, really, but as she spoke she realized she didn’t actually want to be alone like she previously thought.

“I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Honestly, you’re not. I could use a little company. Get me out of my head.” She didn’t know why she added that last part, it seemed too honest, too raw.

He held up the sketchbook. “That’s why I draw.”

“I used to run. In the park. Throw on some music, and forget everything else.”

“Music can heal everything, I think. Do you play anything?”

She shook her head. “I sing, though. Do you?”

“Guitar. Wish I had it here sometimes. I get ideas for songs, but no way of working them out. I try not to forget any of them, but it’s kind of inevitable.”

“Have you been here long?” She realized she had never asked.

He started fiddling with his bandages again and she hoped she hadn’t asked the wrong question. “A week and a half. Longer than Alex. He’s only been here five days.” He tapped a pencil against the corner of his mouth. “Can I ask you a question and hope it won’t be weird?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Do you mind if I draw you?”

She took his question into consideration. That voice, the one in the back of her mind that she had grown to love and hate and enmesh herself with, told her that she was too fat, that there wouldn’t even be enough room on the page for her. Once again, she found herself questioning if her eyes were broken, or if the rest of the world could see what she saw, which terrified her to no end. But she had seen his drawing of Alexander. There was truth in it, and life, too. If anyone could see her, she knew, it would be him.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You tell me why you cut.”

“Only if you tell me why you starve.”

She shouldn’t be agreeing to this. Everything secret, every single moment jumping out and haunting her. She hadn’t even told her siblings what happened. Why this virtual stranger? Maybe because he was a virtual stranger, someone who looked at her without judgment, without expectation. Maybe because although he wasn’t in the same hell as her, he was in hell. Something had driven him to the razor blade, her to the shrinking space between her thighs.

“We have a deal.”

“I don’t have to draw the chair if you don’t want me to.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s up to you.”

He tapped his pencil up against his sketchbook. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I’m trying to decide how to frame you.”

“Is there something specific I need to do?”

He shook his head. “No, you’re fine. You can keep your hands in your lap. You kind of have this serenity going on that I want to capture.”

She choked back a laugh. Her, serene? She was chaos, wrapped in bones and wire. Her mind splayed out in different directions, so beyond her control she couldn’t even remember the exact point when she lost it. Well. He wanted to know why she starved. She wasn’t sure she could tell him that, partially because she didn’t understand it fully herself.

“I don’t consider myself very serene,” she admitted.

“Huh.” John’s pencil made broad, flying strokes across the page. “Well, you sure seem to come off that way. Like, I feel calmer around you. Even Alex is, a little. He’s just kind of beyond everyone right now.”

She could feel herself blushing, and wished she didn’t. But she’s always blushed easily. “I kind of noticed. I mean, about Alexander. Does he ever sleep?”

John’s brows furrowed, and Eliza wondered if she had said the wrong thing, again. Shame crawled up the sides of her ribs.

“Not really,” he said. “I mean, it was worse when he first got here. He was babbling in three different languages at the same time, switching between all of them. Not like it made a difference, nobody could understand what he was on about anyway. Something about how he was the Treasury Secretary.”

Eliza’s fingers twitched. She wanted to run her hands through her hair, her nervous habit, but she didn’t want to disturb John’s drawing, and with how things had been going lately, her hair would start falling out again.  “Oh,” she murmured. She was used to knowing what to say to anything, ready for a kind word for anyone. But this felt a little too invasive, at least without Alexander here.

John shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, I’m not much better. I mean, who the fuck carves into their own skin?” There was bitterness in his tone.

“Someone in so much pain they can’t even begin to speak about it. Or they can’t. Actions speak louder than words.”

“Yeah.” His voice was hollow. “Is that why you’re…?”

“I felt like I was screaming and everyone had gone deaf.”

He held the pencil between his fingers so hard she thought it might snap. “And you want someone to hear, to make time stop and everything disappear. But at the same time, you don’t, because some fucked up part of you loves it. You’ve fallen in love with self-destruction.”

His words sent a jolt through her. Was he right, had she fallen in love with it? She thought of the moments hopping off and on the scale, the pleasure that had coursed through her veins when she realized she had lost another pound. The way she had stood in front of the mirror, and even though she couldn’t see right, she could feel her bones. How she carefully measured every single bite that had gone into her body. Yes, she loved it, loved it and hated it and held onto every single cursed moment.

“Yeah,” she echoed softly, too overcome to think of something intelligent to say.

“Can I ask you about it?”

“I mean, you already are, in a way. Did you have a specific question?”

John paused from his drawing for a moment. “Just kind of wondering how you see things. Because I can make my own observations, drawing you, but I get the feeling it’s a lot different from where you’re sitting.”

She couldn’t help but squirm in the chair a little. She had agreed to talk to him about this, under the basis that it might help him. But it was still uncomfortable talking about herself. At home, it was easy to deflect onto Peggy or Angelica, letting her own problems lie in the undercurrent. But he was asking her directly.

“It is different,” she said mildly. “I wish I had the words, for what it’s like in my head.”

He returned to the drawing. “So do I. But I’m not Alex, writing like he’s running out of time.”

“You’re not so bad with words yourself, John Laurens.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “That part about loving your own self-destruction? Has more truth in it than you would ever know.”

“I guess we have that in common.”

“I don’t want to assume anything, but I guess we both have in common a physical manifestation of whatever pain we’re feeling. I mean, I starve, and you cut. There’s nothing more physical than destroying your body.”

She felt odd, using the word destruction. It was the closest she had ever come to admitting that she had a problem, that her body wasn’t magically going to just keep running, no matter how much she restricted, or exercised, or anything else.

“Yeah.” John started making small strokes with the pencil, a look of abject concentration on his face. “I mean, I don’t know why I even started doing it. Which probably doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“It does,” Eliza insisted. “Because I can’t tell you why I eat the way I do, or why I enjoy it so much.”

“It’s more than just a habit, though. Like my skin itches for the razor when I’m not doing it. Alex got me to stop for six months. I held a lot of ice cubes.”

“Ice cubes?”

“Yeah, Alex says it helps cut down the urges, or something. I called bullshit, but he was kinda right. Not that I was going to tell him that. I mean, up until when he found me in the bathroom, he thought I was cured of it.”

“But you weren’t?”

“Not really. I just started cutting in places where he couldn’t see. I shouldn’t have done this to my wrists anyway, I was stupid…”

Eliza knew she wasn’t supposed to be getting up. Her blood pressure could drop again, and she was dizzy enough as it was. But she wanted nothing more than to hold him, take away his pain. So when his pencil stopped scratching on paper, she lifted herself out of the chair, with great effort. “Please don’t call yourself stupid,” she said softly, holding her hands in his. She squeezed his fingertips. “You’re worth so much, you know that?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Not really.”

“You have a good heart, John Laurens. And a talent worth sharing with the world.”

She could see his ears turn pink a little, and she let go of his hands.

“I’m just about finished with the drawing, if you’d like to see.”

“Yes.”

He turned the sketch pad to face her, and she took in the delicate pencil strokes. When they came together, swimming before her eyes, she was shocked to her core. Was that really her, with the ice-sharp cheekbones, with the sunken, lidded eyes? So different from what she saw in the mirror. But she knew that he saw a truth in people, in their portraits. And in this one, she saw nothing but death.

He takes in her expression, watches her try to puzzle it all out. “You’ve never seen yourself like this, have you?”

“No.” Her voice trembled a little when she spoke.

“What do you see?”

“Death.”

“Just death?”

She nodded, overcome. The inside of her nose stung, like she was about to start crying. After breaking down in front of Alexander, she was not eager to repeat the same scene. She swayed a little, and John reached out to steady her.

“You should probably sit down,” he advised.

“I know. I just hate being so weak.”

“You’re not—“

“Don’t say it. You should have seen everything I could do, before I ended up here.”

“Then don’t think of it as weakness. Think of it as your body communicating with you. That you need to take a step back and take care of yourself for a little while.”

She took a seat back in the hated chair. “I guess you have a point.” She didn’t want to tell him that she didn’t know how to take care of herself, that caring for others had always been her first priority.

“I’ll tell you what I see in this drawing. When I draw portraits, I try and find the soul of the person, try and capture some sort of essence. Usually, you can see it in their eyes. I’m not going to lie, there is death in it. Death around the edges, death in the shadows. But your eyes tell a different story.”

“And what kind of story is that?”

“Love,” he answered simply. “They’re haunted, by whatever you can’t say, but there’s so much love and kindness and compassion there.”

Eliza wiped at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. “Thank you,” she murmured. Words were inadequate. She was inadequate. John Laurens was too good for this world.

He reached over and squeezed her hand.

There was a click, and the door opened. Jefferson’s voice cut across the room, severing whatever tenderness remained.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was interrupting a _private_ moment.” To say he didn’t sound sorry was an understatement.

Eliza snatched her hand away as if it had been burned.

“Fuck off, Jefferson.” John slammed his sketchbook closed.

“Didn’t realize you had eyes for someone other than Hamilton, Laurens.”

Eliza saw John curl his hands into fists. He was taut, all muscles locked, as if he was ready to lunge at Jefferson at any moment.

She stood up in her chair. “Thomas, if you have nothing of substance to contribute to the conversation, I would suggest keeping your mouth shut before you betray your ignorance.”

He looked over at her, jaw slightly agape as if he couldn’t believe she had actually spoken. Part of her couldn’t believe that she had spoken up, either, but she gave him a withering look nonetheless, the kind that Angelica and Peggy had perfected but she had never gotten a handle on.

“That’s your cue to leave, Jefferson,” John made a gesture towards the door.

Instead of listening, Jefferson sunk into one of the chairs, crossing his arms over his chest. “No can do. Group starts in a few anyway.”

John exhaled audibly. “Fine. Then just do the world a favor and shut up.”

“Like I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

A swoop of dizziness struck Eliza and she sunk back into the humiliating chair. The moment, whatever it was, between her and John had been broken by Jefferson’s grand entrance.

She couldn’t help but wonder what drove Jefferson, what made him tick. He would be too easy to dismiss as vain and arrogant and a prick. She had seen the way he had reached out to Madison, comforting him in a moment of panic. Alexander and the others had little patience for him, but Eliza had never been someone to hate solely because someone else did.

However, his thinly veiled comment about Alexander and John left her skin stinging. She didn’t know how John felt about Alexander, or if Jefferson’s comments were something to be dismissed. It seemed too difficult a topic to broach with people she barely knew, when the answers were bound to be raw and messy and spilling over.

She wondered if John would hate her if he ever knew the thoughts she had harbored about Alexander. She wondered if she could even admit them to herself, let alone to anyone else.

She kept silent. She kept silent as the others filed into the room, kept silent as Alexander joked around with John, kept silent as they both ribbed Jefferson. Kept silent when Theodosia asked her if there was anything wrong. Kept silent as group started, and the others shared their own struggles, shaking her head when addressed.

She kept silent because she dared not use her own voice.


	8. A Hamilton Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hamilton Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so: I am bipolar, but my mania looks a lot different from Alex's, so I hope I was able to get across exactly what he's going through in a way that makes sense. If it doesn't make sense, let me know! Also, it seems I am physically incapable of writing Lams that is not angsty.

_Undeuxtroisquatrecinqsixsepthuitneuf—_

Alexander Hamilton is a mess. Thoughts racing faster than he can scribble them down on pieces of scrap paper, half-formed essays, dreams, everything and anything in colors that light up every part of his mind. Right here, hunched over a desk, pen in hand, he is invincible. Too bad he can’t keep his attention on any one subject for more than two minutes. Time moves in strange, staccato beats; he can’t tell if this is part of his mania or a side effect of the new medication they’re trying on him, a medication that has yet to really start working.

His thoughts drift from social injustice to the last time he had seen Eliza, leaving her behind at the dining table to face a glass of supplement alone. He had been too high for a game of Contact; he had switched seamlessly from English to French in her presence, creating worlds in syllables, oozing charm. He was certain she had no idea what was going on in his brain.

Did anyone, really?

He starts another essay, this one about a need for a new wave of feminism, one that was less about white, straight women and focused on being more inclusive, especially with people of color and nonbinary feminists. He puts down his pen for a moment, forgets about it, scratches his head, then picks it up again, no idea that he has started half a dozen sentences and hasn’t finished a single one.

It doesn’t matter.

Eliza. Eliza in a wheelchair, hair hanging in her face. Eliza with the kind, almond-shaped eyes that were surrounded by thick lashes. Eliza staying silent; he was certain there was so much behind her silence. He wanted to hear her words. And he wanted to tell her what beat within his own heart, the energy that seized between them. His desire to kiss the delicate skin at her temple. His desperate hunger, thirsting for knowledge of her inner world, what brought her into the hell she suffered from now. Could he ever understand what instinct had been warped, turning her own mind against her body?

He pulls a fresh sheet of paper from his stack.

‘Dear Eliza—‘

* * *

 

_Undeuxtroisquatrecinqsixsepthuitneuf—_

He’s drunk. No, not drunk, not literally. But the mania that bubbles in his veins makes him feel as though he is drunk. Drunk and high at the same time. He is ready to jump out of his skin. He hears himself talking, but has no memory of what’s being said.

He leans up against the doorway of a room—is it his room? Maybe? Or is it hers? Bam! His mind brings an image to the hazy surface. Diving down with Eliza, avoiding the nurses, his body against hers. How much he had longed for more than he could ever say.

He sees her, in that moment, running down the hallway, laughing, silky dark hair tossed behind her. That couldn’t be her, could it? This Eliza has round cheeks and full hips and breasts—god, those breasts—straining against her tight dress. He follows the Eliza, helpless to all but his feelings. He loves her, he loves her, he loves her in every way at that moment, and he has her up against the wall.

Slowly, his lips touch hers. She is willing, her mouth parted, her teeth lightly nibbling on his bottom lips.

“My Eliza,” he murmurs, and that’s when the image fades, only to be replaced with a cold dish of reality.

Laurens, with indescribable pain in his eyes. Rough hands that push him away. Laurens, with swollen lips and a lump in his throat. Alexander touches his own lips. Had he kissed his best friend? His hands on Laurens, tingling in the palms and the soles of his feet. What has he done?

“John—“ He starts, but for once in his life, Alexander Hamilton is utterly speechless.

Laurens doesn’t want to hear it anyway. He holds up his bandaged wrists as if to hex Alexander away. “Don’t, Alex. Just don’t.”

“John, I—“

But there’s nothing left to say. He can feel the buzz slipping from his skin, the hallucinations fading to what can only be a mistake he can never undo.

John asks for a new roommate. His request is accommodated. Alexander watches John move his stuff out. Neither can look each other in the eye.

That’s when he sinks into the bed and sleeps for the first time in three days, a sleep brought on by the weight of his regrets.

* * *

 

_Undeuxtroisquatrecinqsixsepthuitneuf—_

When he crashes, he crashes hard. The depression smacks him in the center of his heart, turning his veins to stone, making every limb weigh a thousand pounds. He can’t move. A nurse stops by on rounds, takes in the lump buried under industrial white blankets.

“Alexander? It’s time for breakfast.”

He murmurs some non-committal reply, and the nurse disappears. But he’s not alone, he’s never alone. She comes back, tries to coax him out of bed. When that doesn’t work, she calls the doctor, who sits on the edge of the bed, making slick promises that don’t rouse Alexander in the slightest.

All he wants to do is sleep. Sleep and forget about the pain that thrums in time to his pulse, that pulls him under in a tidal wave he can never escape.

They increase his medication, in an effort to take back control of his faulty neurons. He isn’t sure if it’s working. John isn’t speaking to him. He doesn’t see Eliza; he can’t face her, not after his hallucination. If he saw Jefferson he might do something he regrets even more. That leaves Theodosia, who won’t take his bullshit. And after four days of being in bed, he’s not sure if he can even take his own bullshit anymore.

“Alex. Get your ass up.” Never one for subtleties, Theodosia. How she loved Burr, the master of the non-answer, is utterly beyond Alexander.

“No.”

“You can’t stay here forever, you know.”

“Watch me.” He knows he’s behaving like a petulant child but he doesn’t care.

“Look, I get it. You’ve crashed. You’ve come down hardcore. But you have to get up and be a person and face this.”

Anger explodes from the tips of his fingers. He kicks back the blankets, and faces her, eyes burning. “You have no idea what it’s like.”

“Fine. You’re right. I don’t. I don’t have bipolar disorder, so I shouldn’t presume. But I do know that you have to face your feelings, whatever they are. Lying here doesn’t change anything.”

He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’s lying here to stop himself from inflicting more damage on everyone and everything he loves. He’s a hurricane, scattering lives, ruining long built foundations, tearing apart the whole world in a single gust of wind.

“I fucked up,” he managed to say in a small voice.

“Alex, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve all fucked up. That’s why we’re here.”

“No, you don’t understand. John…Eliza…”

Theodosia sits on the edge of his pillow. She begins to stroke his hair, an action that has always soothed him. “John and Eliza care about you a lot. We all do. We’re worried, Alex.”

“I don’t deserve your worry.”

“Cut the shit, Alex. You are worth so much. The world wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“I kissed John,” he blurted out.

She stops stroking his hair for a moment. “What?”

“I kissed him. I was manic, I was out of my mind, and I thought he was Eliza—hell, I called him Eliza. I fucked up and now he won’t talk to me.”

“Shit,” Theodosia breathed. “Do you…have feelings for him?”

“I don’t know what to feel!” His words got caught in his throat and if he had any tears left in him, he would be crying now. But he’s certain his tears dried up years ago.

“You need to talk to him, Alex.”

Alexander shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Don’t be a dumbass. You and John have been inseparable for almost four years now. You don’t just throw that away because you made a mistake.”

Alexander knew she had a point, but he didn’t like admitting someone was right other than him. He was ready to retreat again, to pull the covers up and shut everyone out. So he does just that.

“Thank you,” he managed to say to Theodosia.

He caught a glimpse of her as she leaves the room, hips swinging. She blew him a kiss. “Anytime, Alex.”

He doesn’t take her advice. He doesn’t get up and talk to John. Is it because he’s too afraid of what he’d get in return? Living his life without John Laurens seems impossible; it’s like living without oxygen.

He decides he has to learn to breathe underwater, drowning in every stupid thing he’s ever done, and ever will do. He pretends it never happens. Slaps a smile on his face—isn’t everything so alive, so manic, so amazing—and pray nobody notices the difference. Leaving his feelings behind in between his sheets, so he never has to think on them again.

After all, Alexander Hamilton, bastard, orphan, son of a whore, doesn’t deserve either of them. He never would.


	9. Northern Downpour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She hadn't seen Alexander in four days. Now was the time to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Sorry this took me a little longer to get out than usual--life has been pretty crazy. I want to thank every single one of you for all of your support; it means the world to me to see so many comments and kudos and people responding. If any of you really relate to this and need a listening ear, come find me on Tumblr @piecesofkessa  
> You're the best. <3   
> Also, I've officially been in recovery for a month now! :)

It had been four days since she had seen Alexander. Four days where he wouldn’t come out of his room, not for meals, not for groups, not for anything. She had given him space—space for him to come to terms with whatever was bothering him, space for her to try and understand this sudden shift inside of him. God, did she want to understand. She found that her own morale suffered a little without him; the small clique of her, Laurens, and Theodosia was quieter without Alexander. There was a fragility there that she was terrified of breaking, something that she could not name. But there had been a change, a radical change, in the past four days.

It went against her nature to stir up the pot, but she knew on some level that she needed to. So she plucked up what little courage she had and headed down to his room. John had been moved to a new room, for reasons that remained unknown to Eliza. So Alexander was alone. She got the feeling that was a bad idea, to leave him alone to fight his demons.

She could see him huddled under a pile of blankets, a lump in bright white. She paused in the doorway, unsure if she should knock or not.

“Alexander?”

She saw the top of a dark head.

“Eliza?” A voice, hoarse, but his nonetheless.

“Can I come in?”

“Probably better if I met you out there, after what happened last time. Give me a minute.”

“Sure.” 

He emerged a minute later, buried in a sweatshirt that read “Mt. Vernon Academy.” His hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail.

“Do you want to go the common room?” Eliza asked, and he shook his head no.

“I think Jefferson and Madison are in there, and the last thing I want is to run into them.” He sagged against the wall.

Eliza stepped out of her chair and sunk down next to him, to get to his level. Her tailbone protested at the shift from chair to floor, but she was still so bony that nothing ever felt comfortable.

“We don’t have much privacy here,” she pointed out.

“We don’t have much privacy anywhere.”

“True.” She paused. “I’ve been worried. About you, I mean.”

“You really don’t need to be.” He looked gaunt, compared to the last time she had seen him, purple shadows underneath his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Alexander.” She gave him the sternest look she could muster. “Don’t lie to me, please.”

He sighed, his eyes not focused on Eliza, but instead of some meaningless blank space in front of him. “Sorry. I’m used to hiding everything from everyone. Which rarely works because I’m terrible at hiding how I feel but I pretend it’s effective nonetheless.”

Eliza paused to take in his words. She knew in her heart that she had done the exact same thing for years now. Even before she started restricting, she never let anyone know how she truly felt. Even her siblings, who she treasured more than life itself, often had no idea what emotions were hidden behind her façade of good girl, dutiful daughter, of kindness and patience and giving.

She leaned in closer to him, lowering her voice as if she were passing on a secret. In a way, she was. “I’m exact same way,” she admitted.

“I screwed everything up.” He looked down at his shoes. “I always screw everything up. By being too goddamn much. Too smart and too mouthy and too passionate and I just really…I really want to…” He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s too embarrassing.”

“I’m not one to judge,” she said softly. She wanted to lean up against him, to feel his heat, and take comfort in his body next to hers. Instead, she stayed where she was, bones aching.

“I…” Alexander ran his hands through his hair. “I want to leave a legacy, you know? Do something great. But I constantly feel like I’m running out of time. That there will never be enough time to accomplish anything, and I will leave this Earth having done nothing in an insignificant life.”

“You’re not alone.” 

Eliza thought of the hours she had spent at night, her mind turning over and over again with possibilities. The perfectionism, the desire to be greater than herself, not for fame but for an unshakeable desire to help others, to move and make change. That feeling of profound failure when she realized she had spent seventeen years on this planet and had done nothing. How every pound lost felt more significant than anything else. How she hated herself for being so trivial, but she was so entrenched she didn’t know how to stop.

She wished she knew how to tell Alexander all of this without crying. Or even find a way of telling him at all.

“I’m not?” His wide, dark eyes regarding her with a million questions she could not answer.

“No. I want to make my mark here, too. Help others. Make a true difference for someone in their life. Instead, all I’ve done is starve myself to death—or close enough.”

“Which is the greatest irony. You want to change the world but your body won’t let you.”

She nodded. “Anorexia is the greatest contradiction that exists. It’s the contradiction of it all that kills you. A bid for independence that leaves you like this.” She looked down at her thighs as if she were seeing them properly for the very first time. “Weak and unable to move. You should have seen me before I ended up here. Running on zero, doing everything so quickly I could barely breathe. AP classes, volunteering at the domestic abuse shelter….I was invincible.”

“I was invincible before I ended up here, too. Imagine the greatest high in the world and double it. Moving fast, speaking even faster, everything in fireworks and colors. My friends said I wrote like I was running out of time. But it was extraordinary. I wrote essay after essay, to put up on my blog. I could hear music wherever I stepped. A million pieces of a kaleidoscope, all for me to touch.” Alexander lit up a little as he talked. “And then the crash comes at some point. It always does.”

“And so we end up here,” she said.

“So it seems.”

“What happens now?” She didn’t quite know what she meant when she asked, whether she was referring to whatever she could feel between herself and Alexander, or something more general, a question of life itself.

He reached over and took her hand in his, pressing her fingers to his lips in the lightest of kisses. “That, my dear Eliza, is what we have yet to figure out.”

* * *

 

“Come in, Eliza, have a seat.” Sybil gestured towards the rocking chair, where Eliza perched, still not comfortable enough yet to feel settled in any particular spot. “Do you need the heater again today?”

“Yes, please.”

Sybil took the heater and plugged it in at her feet. Eliza felt her extremities relax in the face of the false warmth.

“What would you like to discuss today, Eliza?”

“I don’t know.” Eliza played with a loose thread at the bottom of her shirt. She refused to meet Sybil’s eyes.

“Eliza, I am not one of those therapists that will sit in silence until you decide to talk. I will challenge you, especially your eating disorder. Without challenge, there will be no progress made towards real recovery.”

“What if I don’t want to be challenged?” Sybil’s words brought up a stubborn streak Eliza didn’t know she had, one she had always attributed to Angelica.

“Do you want recovery?”

“Not really,” she said as honestly as possible.

“Point taken. You probably won’t start to want recovery until after you’ve been in full, active recovery for a few months. Recovery doesn’t feel good at first.”

“It feels terrible.”

“How have you been doing with your meals?”

“I still have to be supplemented,” she admitted, shame biting her at every turn. Even though she didn’t want recovery, supplementing still filled her with a sense of failure and humiliation she didn’t know how to confront.

“That’s pretty normal during early recovery. Behaviors you’ve been engaging in for a period of time take a while to undo. You’re fighting against every instinct you have. But is there anything that makes eating an easier process?”

“Sitting with Theodosia, Alexander, and John helps. Just talking about something else, not focusing on the food. Theodosia taught us a game we’re all pretty hooked on. Contact.”

“That’s a great start. Social support at mealtimes is an important coping skill. Talk me through what happens when you’re at a meal.”

“I see the food on my plate and I want to run in the opposite direction.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to get fat. Because the thought of putting food in my mouth seems so wrong.”

“What happens when you do eat?”

“Nothing! Well, everything you are giving me to eat is for gaining weight. So it’s everything I’ve fought against for the past six months. How can I not freak out?”

“Let’s try and reframe the conversation. We both know that this isn’t about fat and skinny. Tell me more about what was happening six months ago.”

Eliza crossed her legs at her ankles. “It was April. Towards the end of my junior year. And I don’t really know what happened. I mean, not really. I was studying for final exams, as usual. I have to get an A. Angelica, she never cared about her grades as much as I did. Anyway. I spent all day and all night studying. I was in AP classes. Still am. I was in Algebra II when it happened. The panic attack, I guess you would call it. I thought I was going to die. My heart was beating too fast and I couldn’t catch my breath and I felt like I was going to throw up all over my desk. I raised my hand and asked for a hall pass. I stayed in the hallway, my head between my knees, until the bell rang. I couldn’t stop shaking.”

“Sounds like a classic panic reaction. Did you reach out to anyone?”

Eliza shook her head. “I never told anyone about it. Well, except you, right now. I don’t even know why I told you.”

Sybil gave a look of understanding that made her feel like less of a freak. In a strange way, being told that her panic was normal somehow made it seem less powerful, less scary. For the first time since that day in April, Eliza felt like she could breathe without drowning.

“It’s not my job to presume anything,” Sybil said. “But I do believe you are only as sick as your secrets. Having a safe space to share and process this is a key step in learning how to cope with it. Do you feel anxious now?”

“Every day. Not a minute goes by that I don’t feel that coiled in my chest, a monster ready to spring loose. I thought not eating would help. I don’t know why I made that connection, between not eating and stopping the feelings. But it felt good, it felt right, to starve them out.”

“Eliza, it may surprise you to hear this, but you aren’t alone.”

“I’m not?”

Sybil shook her head. “Recent studies have shown that two-thirds of people diagnosed with anorexia have an underlying anxiety disorder. Using behaviors becomes a maladaptive coping mechanism to a problem that is very treatable.”

Relief flooded her system. “Really?”

“Yes, really. So our goals here are finding a way to cope with that anxiety and pain in a way that doesn’t bring you harm. Finding healthy alternatives to starving and excessive exercise.”

“That seems so impossible.”

“It may seem that way now, but I promise you, it’s not. It takes time, and patience, and some failure until you find what works best for you.”

“I don’t do failure.”

“Eliza, you’re human. Everyone fails from time to time. It’s how we learn. You can’t be perfect; you’ve nearly killed yourself trying. Tell me, what’s the worst that can happen to you if you fail?”

“I don’t know. People will think less of you.”

“What people?”

There was a lump in Eliza’s throat. She willed herself not to cry. “My siblings. They all think I’m perfect. It’s like a running joke in the family. That I can do no wrong, not ever.”

The ping of the timer on Sybil’s desk startled Eliza. Sybil stopped the timer. “Unfortunately, you know that means that we’re out of time for this session. But you are making progress, Eliza. I’m very proud of you for opening up today. And we may think about doing a family therapy session with your siblings in the future, okay?”

“Okay.” Eliza pulled herself out of the rocking chair with reluctance.

“I believe it’s time for dinner, now. Do you want an escort?”

Eliza shook her head. “No, thanks, I’m okay.” She got back into her chair and wheeled herself out of Sybil’s office and towards the dining room.

Her tray was set out at one of the tables, where Alexander sat, alone. She took a seat opposite him. “Hey, where’s everyone else?”

She peeled back the saran wrap on her plate. Chicken pesto pasta. She swallowed. Carbs were not her best friend.

“Theodosia is doing supportive dining with Burr tonight. And Laurens is…just not here.” There was a sadness in Alexander’s eyes that Eliza immediately picked up on. She didn’t know what was going on between Alexander and John, but she knew not to push it.

“Who’s Burr?” She took a bite of her pasta. For hospital food, it actually tasted pretty good. The first time something had tasted like anything other than ashes in months.

“Aaron Burr. He’s like some genius prodigy. Got into Princeton at sixteen. Goes there still. Pre-law. Been dating Theodosia for a while now. He was my first friend when I got to America.”

Another bite. The anxiety snaked up her arms and froze her. But she knew she had to keep eating. There was no other choice. “Where are you from, then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“St. Croix. A hellhole island in the Caribbean. But that’s neither here nor there.” Alexander waved away his words as if he could erase his entire past, too. “I tried to get into college early, too. But they told me my credits didn’t transfer properly.”

“What do you want to study?” Eliza took a breath. Another bite. She could do this. She would do this.

“I originally wanted to be a doctor. But then…well, it’s not important. Now I’d rather be pre-law, too.”

“What kind of law?” This was what Eliza was good at. Turning the conversation away from herself, focusing on the other person without bringing up anything relating to her emotions.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “There’s a million things I haven’t done.”

Eliza took another bite. Focus on Alexander, not the food. Focus on the way he lights up with passion. The sweetness of his brown eyes. How much she wanted to kiss him—

Wait. Not that. That was dangerous, too. She shook her head, trying to erase the image from her mind. She did not want to kiss Alexander Hamilton. They were friends, nothing more.

“And you?” Alexander’s voice cuts through her panicked train of thought.

“What?”

“I asked what you wanted to study, when you go to Columbia.”

“I might not get into Columbia. Nothing is guaranteed.”

Alexander shrugged his shoulders. “You’re smart enough for it.”

She wished she wasn’t blushing, but she was. “Thank you. And to answer your question, social work.”

“I could see that. You’d be a great social worker.”

“You really think so?” She moved her fork to take another bite, only to find that her plate was empty. Empty! And there was five more minutes left before dinner was over. There was a spark of pride, mixed with unfathomable anxiety.

“Yeah,” Alexander said. “You have a kind soul. That’s what those kids need, more than anything else. Someone as compassionate as you. By the way,” he glanced at her plate and her, “Nice job.”

“Thank you.” Her words were inadequate for what she really wanted to say, but she couldn’t find the right ones, anyway.

Plates cleared, the pair moved towards the hallway. “Laf is coming tonight for visiting hours, and so is Mulligan. You want to hang with us?”

“Only if you play rummy, not poker.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Eliza approached her room, where a nurse was waiting for her. “Eliza, you have visitors in the common room.”

She felt strangely deflated, her previous joy snatched in a moment of fog. “Be right there,” she murmured.

“Maybe we’ll catch you next time,” Alexander said.

“Yeah, maybe.” She wheeled towards the common room, and opened the door. She knew, her heart sinking, before she even opened the door who it was going to be.

“Angelica. Peggy.”

“Eliza!”

 


	10. All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Schuylers come to visit; A community meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say again how grateful I am to y'all for all the kind comments, support, and kudos! I've really enjoyed writing this, and am so happy to hear that it's been helpful for some of y'all too. Also, I hated community meetings when I was in treatment. They were literally the worst.

Eliza had never dreaded seeing her siblings before. They had always been so close—she couldn’t remember a time when she had not been following around Angelica, while Peggy, in turn, nipped close at her heels. But today, in this moment, all she could feel was fear and anxiety, poised to attack her body in every which way. There was a lump in her throat; she swallowed with difficulty.

“Hey,” she said as both Angelica and Peggy rushed to capture her in a fierce hug.

“We’ve missed you!” Peggy said.

“So much,” Angelica added.

“I’ve missed you too,” she mumbled, the half-truth slipping past her before she could catch it.

“The house isn’t the same without you,” Peggy continued, reaching out to stroke Eliza’s hair. “When did your hair get so thin?”

Eliza shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a symptom,” Angelica said. For the first time since Eliza had known her sister, Angelica wasn’t making direct eye contact. Angelica always preferred to stare someone right in the eyes, to know their soul.

Eliza felt irritation crawl up the back of her spine. She didn’t want to go down this road. This is why she had stayed silent, the week before she had been admitted here. She didn’t want her siblings to enter her private world of calories and exercise and rituals. That was hers, and hers alone.

“I’ve been reading a lot about anorexia,” Angelica continued. Her voice caught a little, and Eliza could see tears in the corners of her eyes. Angelica never cried.

“Me, too,” Peggy piped up.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eliza grumbled, grateful for another excuse to be mad again.

 Being mad was easier than dealing with the genuine sorrow she could sense in her siblings. Anger was easy. Sorrow turned inward, forced her to take every single thing and dissect it. And she knew, with sorrow, that it was all her fault. She couldn’t live with that, not ever.

Angelica reached over and squeezed her hand. “We want to help you, ‘Liza. Please. Tell us what we can do to help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” Eliza snapped without thinking twice.

Then she saw the defeat on Peggy’s face, the tears threatening to spill over Angelica’s lashes. Guilt snapped her back to life, like icy water down the back of her dress. She knew she shouldn’t be treating her siblings like the enemy, but she felt years of resentment holding her down, drowning her in pain and anger and every little thing that she had been ignored for, every time she had tried to use her voice and failed.

The fight brewed under the surface, waiting to spring out and release, destroy everything in its path. Angelica opened up her mouth to say something, and that’s when the common room door opened, to reveal Alexander, Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan.

“Sorry,” Alexander said immediately. “Should we go somewhere else? I was just looking for a deck of cards.”

“Hey!” Peggy looked up at Mulligan. “You’re the guy from the coffee shop, right?”

“Affirmative,” he admitted with a shrug of his shoulders.

Peggy bounced off the tips of their toes with enthusiasm. “Your coffee is the best on the west side. Much better than that Starbucks bullshit. Right, Ange?” Peggy elbowed Angelica, who looked distracted at best.

Eliza followed her sister’s gaze. Alexander. That’s who Angelica was staring at so intently. And Alexander was repaying the favor. There was something about them together, a hidden energy that brought even more anger to the surface.

“I’m Angelica Schuyler,” she heard Angelica say to Alexander. She held out her hand.

Instead of shaking her hand like he would have anyone else, Alexander sunk into a low bow and kissed the tips of her fingers. “Alexander Hamilton.”

Eliza could feel the tips of her own fingers burn with the memory of his lips on her skin, of all the yearning she had felt since she had first arrived. How she thought their attraction was magnetic, unique, something out of the ordinary. She looked over to Laurens, hoping to communicate some message to get her out of here before her heart split in two. Instead, she saw her own pain mirrored in his eyes, in a way he could no longer disguise.

“Where’s your family from?” She heard Angelica ask.

“Not important; there’s a million things I haven’t done.”

His words were like an anvil to her heart; it beat erratically and she found herself unable to catch her breath. Dizziness overcame her, and she closed her eyes, wishing with every part of her body that she was anywhere but here.

She didn’t want to see her sister flirt with Alexander. She didn’t want to hear here giggle as Alexander whispered something in her ear. She wanted to lie down and die.

Lafayette, bless him, interrupted whatever secret communication was going on between the two of them. “Alex? Our game?”

“Oh, yes, right. Poker. Would you like to join us, Angelica, Peggy, Eliza?”

Peggy glanced over at Eliza, trying to gauge her reaction. “I’m not sure if ‘Liza is up to it,” they said with caution.

“Come on, Eliza, let’s play,” Angelica said in her bossiest tone.

Eliza knew when she was defeated. “Only if it’s rummy, not poker.”

As they settled around the common room table, Peggy pinched the loose skin at Eliza’s elbow.

‘You okay,’ they mouthed at her.

Eliza shook her head. She wasn’t okay. She wouldn’t be okay as the game progressed, as she watched her sister argue with Alexander about everything and anything. They were intellectual soulmates, and Eliza could hardly keep up with the dizzying pace of their conversation. She thought of Laurens, who seemed equally as lonesome and withdrawn. And as she sunk deeper into despair, she struggled to keep her composure.

What could Alexander have wanted with her anyway? When her sister was so beautiful, so charming, so undamaged? Angelica was better suited to him, she told herself. Alexander didn’t need another broken girl like her.  Nobody did.

She won all the games of rummy that night, a hollow victory as her heart shattered into a million pieces.

* * *

 

“So, Eliza.” Molly leaned on her elbows on her shiny wooden desk that separated her from Eliza. “I am very proud of how well you’ve been doing.”

“Well?” She had only managed to complete two meals so far—dinner last night, and breakfast this morning. That hardly seemed like a victory.

“You’re starting to make real progress. I’ve spoken with Sybil about how things have been going in therapy as well.”

On some level, Eliza recognized that all the doctors must have been speaking about her amongst themselves, but this still annoyed her nonetheless. Truth be told, she had been in a foul mood since the visit with her siblings last night. “Okay,” she said slowly. Foul mood or no, she was still deferential to authority figures, and didn’t dare snap back.

“Unfortunately, you haven’t met your weight goals this week. That’s pretty common your first week here.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re going to have to increase your meal plan.”

Tendrils of anxiety seized in her chest. More food, when she already struggled so hard? She could hardly comprehend it.

“I can do better,” Eliza could hear the plea in her voice. “Just…give me some time. I’ll start gaining when I feel more comfortable.”

“Eliza, if we tried to weight restore you at a place where you felt comfortable, you’d more than likely be dead.”

Eliza winced at the bluntness of Molly’s words. Molly was truthful, even if the truth stung a little. Eliza had to appreciate her candor, if nothing else.

Moly straightened up some papers on her desk. “We have a couple of different options for increasing your meal plan. One is to increase your breakfast.”

Instantly, Eliza shook her head. Breakfast was her hardest meal; she could barely choke it down as it is.

“I would rather not,” she admitted.

“Okay. Well, we can add a grain at dinner, and increase your snacks to smoothies and shakes.” Molly held out a piece of paper to Eliza. “We have a couple of different flavors you can choose from, so circle which ones you like best.”

Eliza stared at the piece of paper, the words swimming before her eyes. Strawberry…chocolate…oreo…they all blended together. Arbitrarily she circled a few, beyond caring. She started to shake. She didn’t want to know how many calories were in the shakes, but she couldn’t live without knowing. She knew if she asked, Molly would never tell you.

She handed the paper back to Molly. “Can I go now?”

“Not quite yet.” Molly shuffled a few more papers around. “The nurses tell me your vitals are stabilizing. That means you may be cleared to walk around on your own in a few days. How are the dizzy spells?”

“I’m fine,” Eliza said, the lie on the tip of her tongue as always.

Though it was more like a half-lie; she only got dizzy spells on occasion now. She found that she missed them, in an odd way. It was like a visible marker of her illness, and anxiety crawled through her skin when she realized that soon enough, there would be no visible markers of her illness. The special thinness that had kept her so safe was a temporary prison that she was slowly escaping against her wil.

“We’ll have labs done in a couple of days to confirm. But your body is bouncing back quickly, Eliza. It wants to live, and thrive.”

Eliza winced when she thought about labs, about the needle pushing through her skin. This was the part she hated about being sick—if she could stay where she was sans needles, she would be happy. Or would she? She hadn’t felt happy in a long time. She itched to leave Molly’s stifling office and sort out her feelings with a trip to the outdoor courtyard.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” Eliza asked, hoping that the desperation wasn’t too obvious in her voice.

“No, I think we’re done for now.” Molly gave her a warm smile. “We’re all behind you 100%, Eliza. You can do this.”

“Thanks.”

Molly glanced down at her watch. “I believe community is starting now, so you can join them in the common room.”

It turns out Molly was right. Eliza knocked softly on the common room door, and entered.  All of her fellow patients sat, with Maria as the lead.

 “Welcome to community group.” Maria addressed the room as if there were more than the five of them there. In one hand she held a small painted stick. “Would anyone like to explain the rules of community with the rest of us? James?”

Madison shifted in his seat, hands shaking. “All right,” he said. “The first rule of community is that no one can speak without the stick.” He pointed at the stick in Maria’s hand.

“That means you, Hamilton.” Jefferson crossed his arms over his chest.

“I know the rules,” Alexander shot back.

Maria put her hand up in a ‘stop’ signal. “John, would you like to tell us another rule of community group?”

“Profanity and disrespectful language will not be tolerated in community,” Laurens said in a monotone.

“Very good. Theodosia, another?”

“For those of us with eating disorders,” Theodosia gave a side glance to Eliza, “there will be no numbers talk. Weight, calories, what have you.”

“Excellent. And the final rule, Thomas?”

Jefferson crossed his arms over his chest. “We are here in community to support one another. If a member of community asks for support, we will do what we can to help them.”

“Great.” Maria held the stick in her hands. “Is there anyone who would like to start?”

To say the silence that followed was deafening was an understatement. It filled every inch of the room with a stifling air that made Eliza feel like she was being compressed. It surprised her, too—Alexander was so talkative normally that to hear him say nothing at all was unnerving.

Maria didn’t tolerate silences, Eliza could tell by the way the corners of her crimson lips turned downwards.

“You know how this goes,” she said. “If someone doesn’t volunteer, I will go around the circle asking how you feel the community has been helpful this week, and if you need any additional support. Let’s start with our newest member of the community. Eliza, is there anything the community can help support you in this week?”

Eliza’s throat went dry. Of course Maria had to pick her, the quiet one, the one who still didn’t know how to use her voice. She wanted to hate Maria for this, but was simply too exhausted to do anything but comply. Maria handed her the stick, and she twirled it in her hands while she talked.

“I suppose I want to ask the community for support today,” she said, the words surprising her. She never asked for help. She always suffered in silence. But then she thought of Theodosia, of John, of how they had helped her see truths she had never expected. “I just found out they’re increasing my meal plan, and I just…I guess I would appreciate the extra support.” She didn’t mention how anxious she felt, how afraid. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

John raised his hands for the stick, and Eliza handed it to him. “Of course we’d be willing to give you extra support,” he said. “What exactly do you need?” He handed the stick back to Eliza.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, as honestly as possible.

Theodosia raised her hand for the stick, and Eliza handed it over.

“Does playing more table games help? I know a few besides Contact.”

Eliza nodded eagerly. Theodosia passed the stick back. “That helps,” she said. “So does conversation.”

Jefferson raised his hand for the stick, and Eliza blinked in surprise, but handed it over.

“If I’m going to be honest, Eliza,” he said. “I don’t think I can offer you support.”

“Why the hell not, Jefferson?” Alexander broke in passionately.

Jefferson waved the stick in a manner that could only be described as taunting. “You don’t have permission to talk, Hamilton. Anyway, I feel like you don’t really want recovery. That you want to stay in a sick place so that others can fuss over you. If you really wanted recovery, you wouldn’t be struggling so hard with your meals. It’s all about willpower, mind over matter.”

Eliza felt her heart sting with hurt at his words. She could feel all eyes on her, expecting some sort of response. “I…I…” She stammered out. There were tears in her eyes, she could feel them, and the last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him.

“Jefferson, you are full of shit.” Alexander snapped. “And nobody wants your half-assed support.”

“Alexander,” Maria said, voice full of warning. “Not only are you speaking out of turn, but you need to speak more respectfully to your peers.”

Jefferson twirled the stick in his hand, clearly ready just to antagonize Alexander. Alexander, in turn, looked ready to pounce on Jefferson.

It was too much. She knew, on some terrible level, that Jefferson must be right. She didn’t want recovery—hadn’t she said as much to Sybil? So why did his accusation hurt so much?

“I can’t do this,” she gasped. She had to run away. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, needed to hide in a corner somewhere.

She stepped out of her chair, and moved quickly—far too quickly, as the room tilted sideways. Desperate to hang on, she crossed the room and let the door click behind her. The dizziness did not abate so she sank to the floor outside the common room, not caring how the cold floor hit her bones in all the wrong places.

She buried her face in her hands and cried. She was sobbing so hard she didn’t hear the door click again until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Eliza?”

It was Alexander.

“Go away,” she snapped. “You’re the last person I want to see.”

“You want to see me less than Jefferson? Damn, what did I do?”

“Okay,” she conceded. “I want to see you more than Jefferson. But I still—I can’t, Alexander.”

“He’s a terrible excuse for a human being. I’m sorry he said all that bullshit to you.”

“It’s not bullshit, though,” she sniffed.

“What?”

“I mean, he’s kind of right. I don’t want recovery. But I don’t know why his saying that hurt so bad.”

“Because he’s a tactless monster, that’s why.”

She laughed a little, brushing back her hair that hung in her eyes. “You should go back in there.”

“I’m not missing anything. And I’ll tell you, what you saw today in community is pretty tame when it comes to Jefferson and me.”

 He sat down next to her, and damn it if she didn’t feel that wave of attraction again, at having his body so close to hers.  She wanted to be angry at him, god did she want to, but she didn’t know how to tell him how she felt. Not at all.

“My sister,” she mumbled, as she wiped her eyes with her hands.

Alexander pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She accepted it gratefully.

“What about your sister?”

She knew she was bright red when she spoke. The words were almost too difficult to get out. “You…like her?”

Alexander blinked in surprise. “Is that what this is about? You think that I want Angelica?”

“Not think,” she said. “I know.”

Now it was Alexander’s turn to avert his eyes. “I don’t know where you got that from, but you’re wrong.”

“What?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, Angelica is beautiful and witty and we have a lot in common. But she’s not the Schuyler sibling I’m interested in.”

Eliza sniffed again. She didn’t dare hope. She couldn’t hope. His words were not real. Nobody preferred Eliza over Angelica. Dynamic Angelica, who looked exactly like their mother, whose personality took up a room and then some. Even Peggy had a greater presence than Eliza. Eliza felt as though she melted into the wallpaper of their penthouse apartment, slipping into insignificance with every skipped meal.

“Oh?” She forced herself to look Alexander in the eye. His eyes, she realized, were one of her biggest weaknesses. Dark brown, liquid and expressive enough to make her heart jump start in her chest.

She knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. His closeness, the way he leaned in, how her palms began to sweat with anticipation and fear and sweetness. That was when he kissed her, and she melted into him, let herself feel her desire for him that had bubbled to the surface ever since they had met.

She kept her eyes open. If she hadn’t kept her eyes open, she would have missed it. A jacket. Curly hair. Freckles. The sound of shoes running away in the opposite direction. Laurens. Laurens, with insurmountable pain, watching them kiss for the first time. Laurens, who made a slight whimpering noise that only she caught. Laurens, who was hurting for reasons she was only just beginning to understand. Laurens, whose soul she had just shattered with her carelessness.

She pulled away from Alexander, flushed and out of breath. “I can’t do this,” she whispered.


	11. Giving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She swore she would never fall that far, but she gave in anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is such a short chapter y'all! I write my chapters until I feel like they have a natural stopping point. Hopefully I can update twice this week instead of once, so we'll see. Trigger warning this chapter for eating disordered behaviors. Thank y'all so much for all the comments and support of this fic. You are amazing and brilliant, and I appreciate every single one of you. If you want more HamLiza with a side of angsty Lams, I will shamelessly self-promote my newest multi-chap, a fic called I Believe. It's set in a Victorian dystopia, and features the Schuyler Sisters as witches.

“What?” Alexander gazed at her under half-lidded eyes.

To say it pained her to move away from him was an understatement. It was everything she had wanted since she had first met him. But in good conscience she could not—would not—hurt Laurens. Though she feared she might have already.

“I can’t do this,” she repeated.

“I heard you, I just…” Alexander shook his head. “Can’t believe it.”

“I should go.” She stood up too quickly, and swayed. He reached over to steady her.

 There was so much she wished she could say. That she didn’t know any answers in this situation; that no matter what she did she was bound to hurt someone. That even if she wasn’t hurting Laurens, she would advise Alexander to stay away, far away, because no good could come of loving someone as messed up as she was. That she couldn’t even believe that he would care for her in any capacity because she didn’t deserve it, she never deserved it.

“My Eliza,” he murmured, and she felt her heart sink with so much pain she felt her breath freeze in her lungs.

She realized that Laurens must have felt this way every day, for god knows how long. She couldn’t blame him for turning to the razor blade, on top of everything else he might be suffering.

“I can’t,” she repeated helplessly. She stumbled down the hall, hoping he would follow her, but he didn’t.

The tears didn’t come until after she got to her room. She felt like a cliché, burying her face in her pillow and sobbing over a boy. She blinked, and wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her dress.

That was when the voice began whispering again.

_Fat, ugly, hopeless, fatfatfat, you need to get rid of the food, get rid of the calories…_

But she was trapped. Trapped by her own body, unable to run like she used to. Stuck here in this goddamn hospital, with no way to burn everything off the way she longed to.

_There’s another way…_

Eliza sat up, sniffling. No. She couldn’t. She had never. But the temptation swam under her skin, so powerful she felt nearly drunk from it. She hurt so much, so goddamn much, and she had nothing left to hold her back. She had ruined things with Alexander. Things were fractured, broken, smashed into tiny pieces.

She looked around the empty room. Theodosia could be back from community at any moment. Hell, the nurses could be looking for her right now. She reached for a hair tie on her wrist and pulled her hair back. The bathroom attached to their room was ten steps away, ten steps she took with contradictory ease and trepidation.

She never thought she would do this. She had vowed she would never stoop this low. And it wasn’t Alexander’s fault, not at all, it was nobody’s but her own and the desire within her to be skinny at whatever cost. Screw recovery. Recovery that she could never reach anyway. She would be stuck in this twilight hell forever.

She stuck two fingers down her throat, and let her body do the rest.

It was unpleasant. It was disgusting. She had always hated throwing up, had feared it as a child to the point where she used to deny her own sickness until it was too late. Tears rolled down her face, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the force of the retching, or the pain that hammered away at her heart. She stood up, flushed, brushed her teeth. Her eyes were rimmed red from crying.

“Eliza?” Theodosia’s voice floated through the room.

“Yes?” Her voice sounded raspy, and she cleared her throat, wincing at the still-sour taste that lingered. How Theodosia could do this all day, every day, was a complete mystery to her. She emerged from the bathroom.

“Are you okay? You ran out of their like your ass was on fire. Can’t say I blame you, though, Jefferson is a class A prick.”

Eliza nodded. “Yeah.” She didn’t want to talk. “It’s free time, right?”

“Yeah. I was going to track down Hamilton and kick his ass in chess.”

She winced. Even the thought of him felt like she was digging her heart out with a spoon. “I think I’m going to go outside for a while.”

“In this cold?”

Eliza nodded. She liked the cold. It reminded her that she was alive, that she could feel something other than this never ending numbness and fog. Or pain. Physical pain was an excellent distraction from the pain in her heart.

She was just out the door when she heard Theodosia again.

“Eliza?”

“Yeah?”

Theodosia paused, wetting her chapped lips. “You know you can talk to me, right? I understand what you’re going through, with everything. And I promise I won’t be an ass like Jefferson.”

“Thank you,” Eliza murmured out of politeness. She couldn’t confide in Theodosia. She couldn’t confide in anyone.

She slipped out into the courtyard, letting the bitter wind tangle in her hair. The sky was a pearly grey, and a light frost coated the benches and the cracked cement. She perched on the edge of the bench, fists propping up her chin. She was completely, and utterly alone. Alone in her bones, alone in the world she had never asked to inhabit. Brushed aside. A mere slip of a girl disappearing into obscurity. She had never asked for anything. The typical good girl, by all means perfect. They never knew the cost, and would never know, not until she was dead and buried. Then they would wonder. Wonder how such a tragedy could happen, how could a girl forget to eat?

How could she remember?

The footsteps startled her out of her reverie. He, like her, was soft. Invisible. Lost in some other netherworld. She could understand that on some intrinsic level; she had seen it in his eyes, in the way his pencil flew across the page. Someone had tried to bend him to their will, and he had broken in the process.

“Laurens,” she said softly.


	12. Do You Know What I'm Seeing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Laurens is too good for this world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, another update this week! I have so many feelings about Laurens. Like I just love him so much and I ship him/Eliza friendship the more I write them. Shout-out to Stephan for being my sounding board for this chapter, and thanks again to everyone to all of their support! And I promise I will get to all your comments, I appreciate every single one.

“Hey,” Laurens said, his voice barely above a whisper. She could hardly hear him over the whistle of the wind.

She had expected anger, bitterness, something. Instead, he gave her a look that practically broke her heart in his sadness.

“Do you mind if I sit?” He hovered, and she nodded her assent. The cold was making her hands numb and blue, but she didn’t care. “You’re freezing,” he said, gently.

“I’m fine,” she replied.

“Your hands are blue.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m always cold. Kind of used to it by now.”

“Do you mind if I…?” He reached over, and took her hands in his, rubbing gentle circles on the bones, trying to warm them. A fruitless endeavor, she thought, but she appreciated the kindness. In any other circumstances, he should hate her. And here he was, trying to warm her. John Laurens was truly too good for this world.

“Shouldn’t you hate me?” The words were out before she could think of filtering them.

He stopped rubbing circles on her hands and looked up at her. “What?”

“I mean, that’s not what I meant to say. What I meant to say was I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“For…” Her cheeks were bright red, and not just from the cold. “For what you saw. Between Alexander and I. If I had known—“ She stumbled, wishing again for the otherworldly ability to be articulate, like Angelica. Of course, Angelica wouldn’t have gotten herself in this mess to begin with. She was not worthy.

“Eliza.” He spoke with quiet authority, and she met his eyes with her own. “How I feel about Alex has nothing to do with you.”

“Of course it does,” she insisted. “You’re my friend; I could never in good conscience cause you pain. I can’t just go around and act like everything’s fine when it’s really not.”

John exhaled, his breath white against the chalky winter sky. “I’ve been doing it for years,” he said simply.

“But that doesn’t make it right.”

“Maybe not. But honestly, I can’t make Alex feel anything. Nobody can do that. The guy’s a hurricane, as if you hadn’t noticed.”

She managed a small smile. “A little.”

“It’s okay to be selfish, you know,” He continued.

Eliza shook her head instantly. “Never.”

“Think of it this way: you have a chance here. A real opportunity. I would give anything to have Alex look at me the way he looks at you. Eliza, if I even had a hint of a chance with Alex I’d take it up in a heartbeat. He’s special. We’ve been inseparable since freshman year, since I first came to New York. And I can tell you that yes, he is a flirt. He’s a tomcat. Martha actually named her feral tomcat after him. But he treats you differently than I’ve seen him treat any other girl—or boy. There’s a connection between the two of you that can’t be denied. I would advise you to take it.”

Eliza bit her lower lip, digesting his words. “I can’t stand to be the cause of heartbreak.”

He took her hands in his again. “And I’m telling you that you’re not. I’ve loved Alex for a long time now, and he’s never seen me that way, as far as I can tell. But what I am telling you is that there’s something genuine between the two of you. You’d be stupid not to figure out where that leads.”

Impulsively, she threw her arms around Laurens’ neck, resting her head against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat thrumming, and the sound soothed her. “John Laurens, you are a prince among men.”

The tips of his ears were red, and not just from the cold. Slowly, as if not to startle her, he pressed his lips to the pale skin of her forehead. “And you deserve to take care of yourself, Eliza. Don’t disappear. Promise?”

The words felt like a betrayal, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he would think if he knew what she had done. “I promise.”

* * *

 

“Let’s talk about your siblings.”

Eliza sat in Sybil’s office, heater plugged in at her feet and a blanket slipped across her lap. She had wanted to find Alexander after her conversation with Laurens, but had been pulled aside for a session with Sybil instead.

“I don’t think there’s a lot to say.” Eliza reached for the little tin of putty Sybil kept on the desk. Both she and Theodosia had a slight obsession with putty. It kept her ever-increasing anxiety at bay, messing with the sticky stuff.

“Family dynamics can play a huge part in the development of an eating disorder. Especially with genetics.”

Eliza shrugged her shoulders. “Genetics wouldn’t make much of a difference for me. Both Peggy and I are adopted. Angelica is just like Dad. I mean, she looks like Mom, but she’s more similar to Dad.”

“Do you get along with your father?”

Eliza thought of the hours she had spent when she was little, waiting for a father that was never there. How failure was a word that was not mentioned in his presence. How she did everything she possibly could to be the perfect daughter, but stood aside as Angelica got all the praise, all the attention. How she never truly had a voice of her own, not one that she could ever be honest in.

“I don’t know how to answer that question,” she said.

“Okay.” Sybil tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ears. Eliza noticed she was using pencils to hold up her messy updo. “Let’s try and take this one step at a time, starting with your siblings. Would you consider yourself close to Angelica and Peggy?”

“I used to be.” She could hear the mourning in her tone. “I mean, Angelica is only a year and a half older than me. There was never a time when we weren’t whispering secrets to each other. And we both watched over Peggy. They’re only fifteen, but they have a mind that’s much older.”

“Do you think you could pinpoint a time when you weren’t as close?”

Eliza nodded. “Last spring, when Angelica got into Columbia. Dad had been disappointed that she hadn’t applied early decision. That was an ugly fight, between them. I hid in my room while they yelled at each other. But she won. She always wins.”

“And how did you feel, about that?”

“Well, Dad turned to me that night at dinner, and asked me if I would be following in his footsteps, and apply early decision to Columbia. And I nodded, but I just felt this dread work its way up my spine. Like the rest of my life was already mapped out for me and I was just a pawn, waiting to be shaped into something acceptable.”

“So you didn’t feel already acceptable, like your father was proud of your accomplishments?”

Eliza shook her head. “I never felt like I was good enough. Angelica was brilliant in everything she touched. I tried to keep up, but I honestly couldn’t.”

“Did you ever resent Angelica for that?”

“No! I mean yes. I mean I don’t know.”

“That’s a conflicting answer.”

“Try feeling it. I don’t want to hate her. I love her; she’s my sister, my best friend.”

“You can be angry at someone, Eliza. That doesn’t mean you hate them.”

“I’m not supposed to be angry.”

“Who told you that?”

Eliza shrugged her shoulders. “Nobody, I guess. I just thought I shouldn’t get angry. I was supposed to be the good girl.”

“Did you believe that if you showed your emotions, you wouldn’t receive love, praise, or attention?”

Eliza reached for a tissue on Sybil’s desk. It was just out of her arm span, and Sybil leaned over and pushed the box towards her. The truth of Sybil’s words felt like a punch to the gut. “I just wanted them to love me,” she mumbled.

“I can see how that could be difficult for you. Trying to find a voice, and finding that you couldn’t share your emotions. That could easily be channeled into eating disorder behaviors.”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“What?”

“Actions speak louder than words. I couldn’t speak.”

“So you let your body speak for you.”

“I felt like I was screaming, and no one could hear me.”

“If you screamed, do you think your family would have responded to your needs?”

Eliza shook her head. “Probably not.”

“Eating disorders often fill a void that we have in our lives. They can be soothing, a comfort.”

Eliza nodded. She thought of the perverse pleasure she got in skipping meals, in pushing food around her plate, in running off every single calorie and then some. And she felt that familiar tug, that seduction. She didn’t want to give it up. Not yet, not ever. If it killed her along the way, so be it. She could make peace with her own demise. She already had, slipping into a snow bank of confusion, of letting anorexia weave its net around her heart.

“I don’t know what I have without it.” She surprised herself in her honesty.

“I know it can be hard to imagine a life without anorexia. And it’s not easy. But you can build a life without using behaviors.”

Eliza felt the anger rise in her body; it tasted bitter, like the vomit she swore was still on her breath. “Like you would know.”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be in my place. So don’t act like you know better.”

“I do, actually.”

“What?”

“I was anorexic for ten years. I’ve sat in your chair more often than you would know. From hospital to hospital, to treatment center to treatment center. They called me chronic. Said I would never recover.”

“But you did.” Eliza found the words hard to swallow. Sybil looked so normal. Like nothing had ever happened.

“Yes, I did. But it took me a long time. A lot of patience and faith. And I had to change my life. But it is possible. I believe in you, Eliza. You have a chance here to change things. Not just for the people who care about you. But for you. For your life, and your purpose, because I believe you have a purpose, and that purpose is not to starve yourself to death.”

Eliza wanted to believe her. How she wanted to believe her. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t see anything but the inside of the toilet bowl. About the release she had when she gave in to the urge. How there could be nothing else left for her. She was a failure. A hopeless case. Pulled in fifteen directions, none of them doing what she actually wanted.

What did she actually want? She didn’t know.

The timer dinged, bringing her out of her reverie.

“I think you’ve started something important today, Eliza. Identifying your feelings and relationships is a crucial first step in your recovery. I’m proud of you.”

Eliza wondered if Sybil would be as proud of her if she knew what had happened a few hours before. But she didn’t tell her. She didn’t want to.

She stood up too quickly, and felt her head swim. “Thank you,” she managed.

She stepped out of Sybil’s office, the industrial lights seeming too bright, filled with determination and nerves.

She needed to find Alexander.


	13. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She finds Alexander curled up next to the radiator, reading a book in Spanish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! So my best friend talked me into a crazy playwriting challenge for the month of August, so I wanted to update one last time before I take a brief hiatus to write some plays! As always, thank you for all the comments and kudos, and I will reply to them as soon as I can. Thank you again for all of your support and wonderful comments that truly make my day. Also, I totally had refeeding syndrome like Eliza, and it sucks big time.

Alexander was curled up next to the radiator, shivering and reading a thick book in Spanish. Eliza sunk down next to him, grateful for the false warmth.

“I can see why you picked this spot,” she ventured, testing the waters.

He placed one finger on the page, and closed the book. “I don’t really want to talk right now.”

“You not talk! Shocking!” Jefferson floated past.

“Nobody asked you for your opinion, Jefferson.”

“Nobody has to.”

Alexander sighed. “Can you at least do the rest of the world a favor and disappear back into whatever hellhole you emerged from, Jefferson?”

Jefferson sniffed. “At least I’m from somewhere respectable, rather than some backwater—“

Eliza could see Alexander’s hands trembling, his voice low and dangerous. “Get. Out.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Jefferson disappeared around the corner.

“What was he talking about?” Eliza asked.

Alexander shrugged his shoulders. “Not important.”

She played with the hem of her sweater. “Do you want me to get out, too?”

“Against my better judgment, no.”

She felt a sting in her chest at his words. “I’m sorry, you know.”

“So am I.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “For kissing you, I mean. I completely misread the situation. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“What the hell, Alexander?” She felt anger explode at the tips of her fingers. She didn’t even fully understand why his words were pissing her off so much.

He blinked in confusion. “I mean, that’s why you didn’t want to continue, and I understand. I want to respect your boundaries, and if you’re not interested in me, it’s up to me to apologize for any behavior that may have been seen as intimidating—well, not intimidating, but not respectful for your space as a woman, and of course, there’s always just being friends, I mean I totally believe that a man and a woman can be just friends anything else is just misogynistic bullshit and—“

Eliza held out a hand in a stop sign. “Talk less, Alexander.”

“Okay.”

Eliza took a breath. “The truth is, Alexander, I do want you to kiss me. Actually, apologizing for it kind of pissed me off.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry, and we’ll be fine. Well, kind of. I can’t explain why I broke it off. That’s not my place to say, not ever. But I—“ She felt her cheeks heat up, “I care about you. I feel something, for the first time in six months.”

“I couldn’t imagine not feeling anything,” he said softly.

“Trust me, you don’t want to imagine it. And this is the part where I will warn you. It’s distinctly possible that no good will come of you and me. I’m not exactly the pinnacle of good decision making at the moment.”

“And you think I am?” He scoffed. “We’re both in the hospital for a reason, Eliza.”

“I know.” She looked down at her hands, at her bony hands. The nail beds weren’t as blue as they were when she first admitted. “I’m sure that whatever we’re doing is completely against the rules.”

“Completely.” He seemed almost shy when he looked at her, his dark eyes bright. “But I would like very much to kiss you again.”

“I don’t know why.” The words were out of her mouth before she could begin to censor herself. “Don’t try and tell me that I’m beautiful. I know I’m not.”

“You are, Eliza. You have a beautiful soul. Everyone can see that, from me to Laurens to Theodosia, even Jefferson can see it, though he’d never admit to it. I’ll admit, your fragility scares me. It seems like you could break in half at any moment. But underneath the bones is a capable, kind, patient woman who could change lives. That’s what I see when I see you, Eliza. I see a million futures, all of them bettering the world.”

“Thank you.” She was overcome by his words, by how he could build palaces out of paragraphs, paint pictures with words in a way that she never could. She wanted to kiss him senseless for that alone.

“We’re always being watched here, but I know a place where we wouldn’t be,” Alexander said in a low voice.

“Oh?”

“Thanksgiving is in a few days.”

Eliza nodded. In all honesty, she was grateful to not be at home for the holiday, no matter how disappointed her father might be. The thought of facing her family, and food, was all too much.

“Well, Laurens and I were going to go on a day pass to spend Thanksgiving with George and Martha. Lafayette will be there, too, and Mulligan. And if you can get a day pass, too, you are more than welcome to join us.”

Eliza thought about spending Thanksgiving in the hospital, choking down some sad turkey dinner. Then she thought of spending it with Alexander and his friends. Instantly, she knew what her answer would be.

“That sounds lovely,” she admitted. “Much better than spending it here, or at home.”

“Today is treatment team. All of the doctors will gather together and discuss your treatment plan with you. So if you bring it up in treatment team, they could consider it.”

Eliza nodded. Treatment team filled her with all kinds of nerves, but she would use her voice to advocate what she wanted: time with Alexander.

Alexander took her hand in his own and squeezed it gently. She met her eyes with his. She could get lost in his soulful eyes, in the shades of brown. She knew right then and there that she was helpless. That Alexander Hamilton made her feel helpless in the best way possible. Her heart skipped a beat; her skin radiated warmth where he touched her, the first warmth she’d had in months. She knew, right then and there, that she was falling for Alexander Hamilton.

* * *

 

“Eliza, welcome to treatment team.” They were all crowded in a semi-circle around a beaten wooden table. Molly, Sybil, and a doctor she vaguely recognized from her first day were sitting in straight-backed chair. To say she felt intimidated was an understatement.

“Hi,” she said, with caution.

“Please, take a seat.” Molly indicated the empty chair.

The doctor held out his hand to her. He had crisp dark hair and a cleft chin. “Doctor Revere, if you remember. You were pretty out of it on your first day.”

“Pleasure to meet you again,” Eliza said.

“So, Eliza, for treatment team we will be reviewing your progress over the past week, both medical and emotional. We’ll be drawing up a new treatment plan that looks at both short-term and long-term goals for your time here with us. And finally, if you have any questions for us, we’ll be happy to answer them,” Sybil explained.

Doctor Revere shuffled some papers around. “Medically speaking, there has been both some progress and some setbacks. When you arrived it became very clear that you were medically unstable. Honestly, in my opinion, you should not have been released from the emergency room when you were. But our second blood draw shows marginal improvement in both electrolyte levels and your metabolic panel. But the nurses have noticed that you had dizzy spells, and you were confined to the chair for a few days after passing out on your first day. How are you feeling, Eliza? Still getting dizzy spells?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But not as frequently as before.”

“Excellent. As you continue to refeed, you will hopefully see a reduction in those spells. Have you been experiencing any symptoms of refeeding syndrome?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Are your ankles swollen?”

She nodded.

“How about your bowel movements?”

She could feel heat prickling from her cheeks to the top of her scalp. “I, um, am constipated,” she admitted in a near whisper.

“That’s fairly normal when refeeding. If you still struggle, the nurses will administer a light laxative. Did you abuse laxatives during the course of your eating disorder?”

“No, sir.”

“All right, then.” He thumbed through some more paperwork. “You and I will consult later this week to consider some medication options.”

“Medication?” She could hear the nerves in her tone.

“Just something to soothe your anxiety.”

“Okay.” She looked down at her feet.

“Well, that’s about it for me. Molly, do you have anything to add?”

“Yes,” Molly said. “Eliza, we’re very pleased with how you are starting to complete your meals. I understand how difficult of a position you are in, and I recognize it takes time to get used to eating full meals again. We’re hoping that if you complete a full week’s worth of meals without supplementation we can move you up to Level Two.”

“Level Two?” Eliza asked.

“For our eating disordered patients, we have three levels of supervision. At level two, you would be able to eat all snacks without my supervision.”

Eliza felt a little relief  at that. Snack times could get awkward, with Molly watching her and Theodosia like a hawk.

“I know you haven’t met your weight goals this week, Eliza, but next week should reflect some better numbers, considering your meal plan increase.”

Eliza shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the mention of the increase. She still couldn’t come to terms with being stuck in milkshake hell for the foreseeable future.

“Once we get a little weight on you, we’ll focus on undoing some of your rituals and behaviors at the table. I expect it will take some time to work on those,” Molly continued. “But I, for one, would like to commend you on your progress. You’ve come a ways since you first came in last week, and we expect great things from you.”

“I agree,” Sybil said. “We’ll continue our work together in therapy, but I am proud of you beginning to open up. As soon as we can, we’ll arrange for a family session with your siblings to address what we discussed today.”

“Do we have to?” Lord, but she wasn’t filtering her words today.

“Yes, we have to,” Sybil answered with a small smile. “Especially when, further down the line, we will be discussing how you can transition from the hospital to recovery in the real world.”

Eliza didn’t want to think about recovery in the real world. It was one thing in a hospital, another thing entirely when with her family.

“Well, Eliza, do you have any questions for us?” Sybil adjusted her glasses.

Eliza tried to steady her breath. Honestly, she had a million questions, but she didn’t dare ask. Like, when would she get out of here, and she doubted they would tell her, even if she asked. She thought of Alexander, and his request. “I do have one, actually.”

“Okay,” Sybil said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I was speaking with Alexander about Thanksgiving, and he mentioned that he and John were going back home on a day pass. He invited me to join them, if I could get a pass approved for a few hours this Thursday.”

“Hmmm.” Sybil leaned back in her chair. “Well, Eliza, we would like to take it into consideration, but there are some factors that need to be discussed amongst us. Would you mind waiting outside while my colleagues do as much?”

“Of course.” Eliza stood up and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Sitting up against the wall, her nerves were frazzled beyond belief. The reality of where she was, and what she was doing hit her straight in the face. She was supposed to be giving up her eating disorder. The last thing she actually wanted to do. She could, of course, pretend to give it up. Pretend to recover enough to get them off her back, and then go back to doing whatever she wanted when she got home.

Her thoughts turned towards Alexander. Was whatever they had going to last outside these walls? Or would he give up on her after their time here was done? What kind of boy wanted an anorexic for a girlfriend, anyway? She placed her chin in her hands. She hoped, against all odds, that they would last. That whatever existed between them was something more than just a stupid flirtation. Laurens seemed to think that it was something more. What had he said, something about Alexander never treating a girl or boy the way he treated her—

“Eliza?” Sybil poked her head out the door. “We’re ready for you, now.”

“Okay, thank you.” She followed Sybil back into the room.

“So, Eliza, we’ve discussed your suggestion. And all of us are in agreement that you are medically stable enough to spend a few hours on a pass with your peers. However, we do have some valid concerns about your ability to stay behavior-free during your time away from the unit, and feel as though your pass will be conditional. The first condition is that you must complete all your meals between now and Thursday without any supplementation. The second is that you will work with me on a daily basis to address any issues that you feel might come up during your time away from the unit.”

Molly took over. “And you and I will discuss in our upcoming session proper portioning of your plate at the Thanksgiving dinner. Holidays can be a really triggering time for those with eating disorders, and we want to make this a successful visit for you.”

Eliza nodded.

“Was there anything else, Eliza?” Doctor Revere asked.

She shook her head.

“Excellent. You’re free to go, then.”

She practically ran out the door. She was sprung! Well, almost sprung. Thursday couldn’t come soon enough.


	14. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving with the Washingtons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am supposed to be writing plays, but my muse would not shut up until I finished this chapter. Then it's back to writing plays! I'm particularly proud of how this one turned out; the more I write HamLiza, the more I fall in love with it. Also, the idea of a life's library comes straight from Looking for Alaska; I got the feeling that if anyone were to have one, it would be Hamilton. And if Alaska and Hamilton ever met, hell would be raised.

They didn’t have to know about the purging. On the surface, it looked as though she were making good progress. Completing her meals, meeting with Sybil on a daily basis, standing on the scale with no complaint. She didn’t know her weight; they would never let her know. But she could see it. She could see the unwanted weight on her bones. She could practically see her thighs expanding with every bite she took. And it killed her. Six months of work, six months of ignoring the starvation pangs, of denying every possible hunger she could feel. Running mile after mile in Central Park until she was too weak to stand up straight. Standing on the scale, letting the pounds melt off, and taking joy in her accomplishment.

Intellectually, she knew this was sick. That it was wrong to deny herself food, to bring herself to this level. To stick her fingers down her throat and let her body do the rest. But emotionally, it felt so damn good. Better than good. It filled the void inside, a void she had for so long. She snuck back into her room when she could, paranoid that Theodosia knew, that she would find out by osmosis, and tell. But so far, nobody had noticed. Nobody had questioned her occasional trips to her room to find her journal, or brush her hair, or whatever flimsy excuse she came up with.

She hated it. She hated purging, but she hated gaining weight more. In the war against her own body, there would be casualties. She knew that. And it was incredible how much she did not care. It was a deadly contradiction that was ripping her in two. On one hand, she was ready to die. Ready to give everything up, let her tired body and soul rest. On the other, she couldn’t believe she actually would die from her eating disorder. That was for people far sicker than she could ever achieve. She wasn’t thin enough to be considered that sick. She never would be. She was pathetic, and the whole thing just made her want to purge.

Then there was Alexander to factor into the equation. Alexander and Laurens and Theodosia. They cared about her, and she cared about them. What would they do, if they knew that she had been purging on the side? Would they never speak to her again?

She put the toilet seat down and rinsed out her mouth with some mouthwash to get the bitterness out.

“Nobody needs to know,” she whispered to her reflection in the mirror.  No red rimmed eyes, no bloodshot irises.

“Eliza!” Theodosia poked her head in their shared room and Eliza startled, nearly dropping her toothbrush in the sink.

“Yes?” She tried to keep her voice from trembling.

“Sybil was wondering where you got up to. Group’s about to start in a few, but I think she wants to meet with you.”

“Okay. Be right there.” Eliza smoothed out a few stray hairs on the top of her head.

“You’re so lucky you’re not on purge protocol,” Theodosia said with a whiff of envy in her voice. “I miss being able to pee in peace.”

Eliza bit the inside of her cheek. The secret was burning up inside of her, but she couldn’t tell her. She couldn’t tell anyone.

“Got any Thanksgiving plans?” Eliza asked instead, as the girls walked down the hallway.

“I can’t go out on a pass,” she said. “Like, the only place I could go was home, and that’s a bad idea.”

“What about Aaron?” Eliza hoped she had remembered the name of Theodosia’s boyfriend correctly.

“Aaron is…doing his own thing with his foster family. They…they don’t exactly know about me.”

“Why not?”

Theodosia’s eyes darkened. “It’s complicated. My parents don’t know about Aaron, either. I’ll explain more later,” she said with a significant look as Jefferson passed, arm in arm with Madison.

“Okay.” Eliza stood outside Sybil’s office. “Well, I hope you have a good Thanksgiving,” she finished lamely. She wanted to extend the invitation to the Washingtons’ to Theodosia, but it wasn’t her invitation to extend. She made a mental note to bring the idea up to Alexander, the next time she saw him.

She knocked on Sybil’s door.

“Come in,” she heard on the other side of the wood. Eliza pushed the door open. “Eliza! Have a seat.”

Eliza settled in her favorite chair, the rocking chair. She curled up, shivering. Why this entire hospital was an icebox was utterly beyond her. Why she was the only one to feel the cold reminded her that she was still sick.

“So.” Sybil leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her grin was infectious. “I have good news for you.”

“What?” 

“You’ve earned your pass. All of your treatment team, myself included, are very proud of you and your progress.”

Eliza found herself wondering, not for the first time that day, what Sybil would think if she knew about the purging. She’d probably hate Eliza. Or worse, be disappointed in her, just like every other member of her family. She was never enough. She could never be enough.

There was a beat of silence, and Eliza realized she needed to get out of her own head, and back to the present.

“Thank you,” she managed to say.

“You seem a little out of it.”

Eliza stood up. “Just—excited. I have to tell Alexander.”

“You care about him a great deal, don’t you?” Sybil gave her a knowing look.

Eliza blinked, trying to appear as innocent as possible. “He’s a very good friend to me,” she said in as neutral of a tone as possible.

“I know he cares for you, too,” Sybil said gently. “I can tell by the way he looks at you.”

“It’s that obvious?” She found herself flushing.

“Alexander is not known for his subtleties. And I was young once, too.” Sybil winked at her.

“So I’m not going to get into trouble?” She couldn’t help but ask.

Sybil shook her head. “As long as there is no sexual misconduct, no. We can’t stop you from feeling anything, but we do have consequences for actions.”

Eliza nodded. “Thank you. I better tell him.” She stood up. “Have a good Thanksgiving, Sybil.”

Sybil smiled at her. “You, too.”

She could have practically skipped down the hallway. Free, she was wonderfully, gloriously free, at least for a few hours. Group was just letting out of the common room. She spotted Alexander speaking in low tones to Laurens, and she was glad that the two of them were speaking again. What about, she didn’t care. But she hoped that whatever had passed between the two of them was resolved, at least a little bit.

“Alexander!”  He turned around to face her.  Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him. Those eyes that left her so very helpless….

“Eliza?”

“I got the pass!” She couldn’t help but smile as she said the words.

What she was not expecting was him to throw his arms around her and hold her close. She took a breath in, overwhelmed by his scent, some sort of pine-y boy tangle that left her breathless. She longed to kiss him. She stood on the tips of her toes and was leaning in—

Laurens cleared his throat. Eliza withdrew, more than a little embarrassed.

“Group hug?” Eliza asked, and Alexander nodded, waving Laurens over.

“Group hug.” He pulled Laurens into the fold. “We’re going to have the best time.”

“Oh, Alexander,” Eliza said, remembering, “Do you have room for one more?”

“As long as it’s not Jefferson.”

“Actually, it’s Theodosia. She doesn’t have a place to go this Thanksgiving.”

“I thought she was going with Burr? That’s why I didn’t invite her.” Alexander looked genuinely puzzled.

“She’s not, though she won’t go into why much. I didn’t push her.”

Alexander shrugged his shoulders. “Well, there’s always room for more at George and Martha’s, right, Laurens?”

Laurens nodded. “Always.”

\------

She could not describe how wonderful it felt to step outside the doors of the hospital. It was snowing lightly, and she relished the small wet patches on her face.

“God, this feels amazing,” Theodosia said, burying her hands in her pockets. “Thanks again, you know.”

“Not a problem,” Alexander said cheerfully.

“Are you sure they won’t mind having an extra guest?”

Laurens shook his head. “Martha always cooks enough to feed a small army. Trust me, you’re doing all of us a favor.”

Alexander held out his gloved hand to Eliza. She took it, color blooming on her cheeks, and not just from the cold. She felt a little rush of nerves when she realized that outside the hospital, she could do whatever she liked with Alexander.

“You’re shivering,” she said to him. He was indeed shaking, despite being wrapped up in a coat, hat, and scarf.

“So are you,” he pointed out.

“He just can’t handle the New York winter,” Laurens said. “Never, in all the years I’ve known him—“

“Shut up, Laurens, you’re not much better. How cold does it get in South Carolina, again?”

“Whatever, dude.”

“Is that really the best you can come up with? Damn, Laurens, I thought better of you.”

The tension was back again; Eliza could see storm clouds in Laurens’ eyes, and wondered what had set him off this time. The mention of South Carolina, perhaps?

“We better get going,” Laurens said, walking down the street. “We only have a couple of hours, after all.”

“Where, exactly, are we going?” Eliza asked Alexander as the group started down the street.

“Upper West Side.” Laurens and Theodosia walked further up ahead; Eliza could see the rainbow colors of Theodosia’s knit cap.

“Are we all going to be able fit into a cab?”

Alexander gave her a strange look. “We’re taking the subway.”

“Oh.” She had never taken the subway before; the Schuylers had a hired driver that took her and her siblings everywhere they had needed to go. The subway was dangerous, she had been told. “I don’t have a—what do you call them?”

“A metrocard,” Alexander said. “It’s fine, you can use mine.”

“Thank you.” They got to the subway station, and Eliza looked down at the filthy steps that lead to darkness. She found herself gripping Alexander’s hand tighter as they descended underground.

One by one, they swiped their metrocards and waited on the platform for the uptown train. Eliza took everything in with wide eyes, from the cracked title that spelled out the station name, to the gum-caked floors. People wandered about, mostly keeping to themselves, shivering in the cold. Eliza peered over the edge of the platform to look at the track below. Stray pieces of garbage littered the track. That was when she saw movement on the rails—a chunky rat, scrambling across the way. She squealed and jumped back instantly.

“Eliza? What’s wrong?” Alexander looked at her with concern in his eyes.

“Just a rat,” she murmured. “I’m afraid of rats.”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “God, you’re sweet.”

There was a whoosh and a flash of bright lights; one by one they got on the train, sitting together. The stations raced past; Eliza paid little attention to anything other than the feeling of Alexander’s hand in her own. Still, as nice as it was to be so close to him, she couldn’t shake her anxiety about the upcoming meal.

Everyone watching her—she knew they did it out of love, but that didn’t help much. And what if she couldn’t purge? She couldn’t let that meal sit, making her fat, expanding her thighs with every bite. She had to get rid of it. There was no question about that. But how could she purge with everyone watching over her? She began to shake a little. It was too much to take in.

“Eliza?”

She registered that Alexander was speaking to her, but his words took a little while to reach her. “Yes?”

He was standing up, so were Laurens and Theodosia. “This is our stop.”

“Right.” She stood up too quickly and had to fight the wall of dizziness.

The Washingtons lived in a brownstone; the building was so different from the intimidating penthouse the Schuyler siblings called home. There was no doorman, no perfectly shined surfaces. Alexander pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the front door.

“Shoes off,” Laurens said to Eliza and Theodosia. Eliza obediently left her ballet flats by the front door.

A shot of brown fur whizzed by, followed by an unholy chorus of hissing.

“The door, the door!” Alexander motioned towards the front door, and Theodosia got it closed just in time.

“What the hell was that?” Theodosia looked warily at the hissing mass in front of her.

Laurens reached down and picked the cat up, cradling it in his arms. “His namesake,” he said, pointing to Alexander. “See the resemblance?” The cat had graduated from hissing to making mewing sounds. “Neither of them know how to shut up.”

Eliza giggled. Alexander crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re not supposed to agree with Laurens,” he said.

“It’s hard to argue with a cat, Hamilton,” Theodosia pointed out. “I mean, he kind of has a point.”

“Yo,” Hercules Mulligan, dressed in a splattered apron, emerged from the end of the foyer.

“Herc!” Laurens took a step towards him, but Mulligan warded him off instantly.

“You come near me with that cat, and we’re going to have some problems.”

“Don’t like the cat, Herc?” Laurens asked a little too innocently.

“Not that I dislike him, more that he holds a general animosity to everything except Martha. And, apparently, you.”

“Where is Martha?” Alexander asked.

“In the kitchen. I was helping her out. Laf, too, but the only thing he’s good with are the pies, so don’t listen to him if he tries to tell you otherwise. Might as well make your way over there, I’m sure she’ll be grateful for the extra help. All hands on deck and whatnot.”

Coats were shed and put into the coat closet. The cat was set down, and darted off to parts unknown. Eliza became hyper aware of Alexander holding her hand. Did the Washingtons know? Had he spoken to them about her?

The smell of food—of garlic and squash and turkey and inexplicably, cinnamon—wafted through the house as Mulligan lead them back into the kitchen.

“Mes amis!” Lafayette yelled as soon as he caught sight of them. He was elbow deep in flour, dusting his hair and the front of his apron.

“Laf!” Alexander briefly let go of Eliza’s hand to embrace Lafayette, with Laurens following suit.

There was a woman at the oven, her brown hair pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore black, despite the stifling heat of the kitchen. She was basting an enormous turkey, and returned the bird to the oven.

“Glad to see you’re all in one piece,” she said to Alexander and Laurens.

“Of course, Martha.” Alexander pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Could we be anything but?” Laurens had a cheeky grin.

Martha had one hand on her hip, the other on a wooden spoon, stirring a saucepan of gravy on the stove. “I am never surprised by what the two of you manage to get up to.”

Eliza laughed, and Martha turned her attention to the far end of the room, where she and Theodosia stood.

She pointed the gravy-laden spoon at Alexander and Laurens. “And you haven’t introduced me to your guests!”

“Right.” Alexander was at Eliza’s side instantly. “Martha, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Eliza Schuyler and Theodosia Bartow.”

If Martha registered any shock at Eliza’s emaciated features, she didn’t show it, and Eliza felt a rush of gratitude. On one hand, she got a sick thrill from seeing the shock on people’s faces when they took in her appearance. On the other, she would rather be invisible. Martha took neither route; instead, she put the spoon back in the sauce and shook both girls’ hands.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Washington,” Eliza said, and Theodosia echoed her.

“Please, call me Martha. All the boys do.” She indicated Alexander, Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette, none of whom were being productive in the kitchen at that particular moment.

“I will be sure to keep that in mind,” Eliza said, certain that she would never call Martha anything other than Mrs. Washington.

“Boys!” She indicated Alexander and Lafayette, who were dueling with a pair of baguettes. “Put those down and help me with dinner. You don’t mind helping, too, do you, girls?” Martha indicated a pile of vegetables and potatoes. “Vegetables need chopping, potatoes need peeling.”

“Of course,” Eliza said. She had never chopped a vegetable in her life, but figured it wasn’t too hard to figure out.

“Actually, Martha,” Alexander put down the baguette and gave a look that Eliza could only describe as manipulative, “I was hoping I could give Eliza a tour of the house.”

Martha locked eyes with him, and it seemed like they were having a conversation of their own, a conversation without words, only in glances and the intensity of Martha’s gaze, an intensity that rivaled Alexander’s own. Finally, they broke contact, and Alexander took Eliza’s hand and led her out of the kitchen, amidst snickers from Lafayette and Mulligan.

“What was that about?” Eliza asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“What?” Alexander took her hand again.

“That whole eye thing. With Mrs. Washington.”

“Oh, I don’t know, sometimes it’s just easier that way.” Alexander pulled her down the hallway and around a corner, to where there was a staircase.

“You’re really close to them, aren’t you?”

His smile was infectious. “Yeah, I am. George and Martha are the best. This way.”

It took her longer than usual to climb the stairs, but he was patient with her. By the time they got to the top, she was winded.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she said automatically. “I’m fine.”

They reached a plain hallway, dotted with pictures.  Eliza noticed that all of them featured a teenage Alexander, crowded together with Laurens and Lafayette. There were no earlier portraits, and she found herself wondering, not for the first time, what happened to Alexander in his childhood.

“Where are we going?” She asked, and he flashed her a far-from-innocent grin.

“My room, of course.”

She stopped short in the middle of the hallway, and he laughed, not unkindly. “Eliza, I promise I’m not going to ravish you.”

She flushed deep scarlet, and the words were out of her mouth before she could think twice. “What if I want you to ravish me?”

He pressed an unchaste kiss to her lips, and when they broke apart for air, he whispered softly in her ear. “When you get better.”

She had never thought about getting better, and she wanted to say something, wanted to confess everything she had ever done and have him understand. But the way she saw it, he was only setting himself up for heartache.

“What did you want to show me?” She asked, hoping her voice didn’t break. Waves of sadness washed over her. She could never be the girl he saw, that he dreamed of.

He pushed open a nondescript wooden door, and Eliza gasped. The walls were lined with shelf after shelf of books—more books than she could have ever even conceived of.

“I call it my life’s library,” he said proudly. “When I moved in with the Washington’s, all I had were the clothes on my back and a cardboard box of books. I started from there. Now, whenever I find a book at a garage sale or a used bookstore or something, I collect it to read someday. I’ve made my way through maybe half of it? And I hope to pay it forward someday—give books to someone who was, well, someone who was in a similar situation that I was in.”

“Alexander, that’s incredible.” She swayed a little on her feet. Though she didn’t want to admit it, her energy levels were failing, quickly.

“Do you need to sit?” He indicated the bed. “I mean, you could—“

“Thank you,” she said quickly. The bed had been freshly made, she could tell. She sunk onto it with gratitude, though she could never get fully comfortable. Her bones saw to that.

He sat down next to her, and held both of her hands. “My Eliza,” he murmured.

She leaned in before he did, desire flooding through her veins. Desire for him that made her feel so alive. She had been numb for months, but around Alexander, she got a glimpse of what she could be. What she was truly capable of. And she was torn. Torn between what she was used to, of everything she did to drown out the pain, and this feeling, of being in free fall.

She surprised herself with her kisses, how she leaned against him, feeling his heart race, feeling his body come alive in response to her own. She pulled her hands out of his grip and got to work on the buttons of his shirt. She had barely touched the bare skin of his chest when he gently took her hands again.

“Next time,” he whispered. He pressed the lightest of kisses to her neck, her most sensitive spot. She shivered at the contact.

“Why not now?” She whispered back. She could hear the need in her voice, and did little to cover it up.

“Not because I don’t want to. I didn’t bring you up here to just show you my life’s library. But if—when—if we’re together again, alone, I want you to be healthy. I want to see the color on your cheeks and watch your eyes light up. I want you to believe that you are as beautiful as I say you are. I want you to remember, not have everything smash together into a ball of stress about food and everything else. I just want you and me. I want to know you and love you outside the specter of your anorexia—“ Alexander’s eyes widened as he realized what he had just said. “Shit, I mean, I care about you and I just, I don’t know—I don’t want this to be another regret, if you looked back on it--“

“Alexander.” She looked him dead in the eye. “I understand.” And she did. She understood his intentions, and she understood that he wanted her to be happy. But even so, part of it stung. The voice in her head threatened a litany of insults, and she forced herself to be quiet.

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do. I just…I don’t know. When that would be.” That was about as honest as she could come to be, about her recovery.

“I’ll be patient! I’ll wait for the right time.”

She laughed a little. “You don’t strike me as the patient sort. Not ever.”

He hung his head. “Not really. But I would. Wait for you.”

“That’s not really necessary,” she said.

“Yes.” He pressed another kiss, this time to her lips. “Yes, it is.”

“I’m not worth it.”

“Eliza, I could write a thousand pages on how worthy you are. And how much I don’t deserve you.”

She almost said it. She almost told him. The words were on the tip of her tongue. And then—she couldn’t.

She stood up. “We better get back downstairs. Help Martha out in the kitchen.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable to her. “Of course.”

\-----

The dinner was beautiful. Eliza had been stressing about the preparation, considering she knew little to nothing about cooking, but she had more fun messing around with Laurens and throwing spare potato peels at him than she had thought possible. Somehow or another, everyone had gotten involved, sharing stories, trading jokes, and something wonderful had emerged from all the effort.

Then came the bringing of the dishes to the actual table, and Eliza had to confront herself with the idea of eating.

“Gilbert,” Martha said to Lafayette, “Could you knock on George’s study and let him know dinner is served?”

Lafayette disappeared around the corner. Martha wiped her hands on her apron, and untied the strings, folding up the stained cloth. “He’s always so busy,” she said, mainly for Eliza and Theodosia’s benefit. “Come, come, take your seats.”

The dining table was nothing like the dining table at the Schuyler’s. That table had been long and imposing, only made worse by her varying anxieties. This table was square and cozy. Eliza sat down where Alexander had indicated, next to him. She stared down at the delicate blue and white china, and wished with all her heart that she didn’t have to eat. That she could just be here, enjoy the company, and not pretend that her life was falling apart at the seams, that she couldn’t hold a fork without freaking out.

“Found him!” Lafayette’s voice rang out, and he emerged with a tall man by his side.

Instantly, Eliza jumped to her feet. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about George Washington made her want to stand at attention, as though she were in the military and he was her general.

She noticed that his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, which he was doing, at her.

“Please, sit,” he said to Eliza. He eyed the table. “It looks beautiful, Martha.”

“No thanks to you,” she said stoutly.

“Martha, the last time I tried to cook the Thanksgiving turkey the fire brigade ended up staying for dinner. A dinner of Chinese food, if you recall correctly.”

Theodosia laughed, a contagious sound.

“You didn’t introduce me to your guests, son.” George gave Alexander a pointed look.

Martha started gathering plates. “Everybody, sit, sit, and I’ll get to filling these plates.”

Instantly, Eliza felt a stab of anxiety. Eating something she had portioned out was one thing. Having someone do it for her was another beast entirely.

“George, may I introduce you to Theodosia Bartow and Eliza Schuyler.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” both girls murmured.

“Schuyler? As in Phillip Schuyler?”

“White or dark meat, Eliza, dear?” Martha asked.

“White, please.” Less fat that way, at least. Martha handed her a plate full of turkey, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and green bean casserole.

She froze. It was too much. There was no way she could eat this mountain of potatoes, a cavern of casserole. Did normal people truly eat like this? They couldn’t, it was insanity. She picked up her fork and stabbed at a green bean halfheartedly.

She realized that George’s eyes were on her. “Schuyler, yes,” she managed to say, her throat dry. “My father is Phillip Schuyler.”

“Your father and I did business together many years ago,” George said. “Do give him my best regards.”

“I will,” she said. She couldn’t bring herself to take a bite of potato, or turkey.

“Ohmygod this is amazing,” Laurens said. He, as well as the other boys, were digging into their food as if they hadn’t been fed in a week.

“I’ve missed Martha’s cooking,” Alexander agreed. “The hospital food leaves a lot to be desired.”

Eliza didn’t dare let the food touch her tongue. She was afraid that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Eliza, dear,” Martha’s voice was filled with concern. “Are you quite all right?”

She managed a tight smile. “Fine.” She took a bite of turkey to prove it. And another. And another.

In the background, she could hear Alexander chattering about some political event or another; George inquiring after Theodosia’s studies. She paid it no mind. She only focused on her plate, on the food she was shoving in her mouth. Her hunger was endless, bottomless, and it terrified her to no end.

This was why she didn’t eat. Not eating was better than facing this, in being aware of her own darkness. Of being entirely too much, with no way to stop.

As soon as the last forkful had been demolished, the voice in her head began to scream.

_How could you—fat—ugly—stupid—fat—fatfatfatfat—get rid of it—get rid of—_

“May I please be excused?” She was itching to run, but she could never run enough to burn this off. No way.

“Of course, Eliza, dear.”

She leapt to her feet, pushing back her chair. It took her a few minutes to find the guest bathroom, but she did, closing the door behind her. It was almost easy. She felt so disgusted with herself that it took little effort to purge.

Clinging to the toilet, her hair being held back by one hand, she threw up until she saw spots of blood. Coughing and sputtering, she flushed the mess away.

She almost didn’t register the knocking at first. Then she heard Alexander’s voice.

“Eliza, open the door! Now!”

“I’m busy,” she said. “Leave me alone.”

“Yeah, busy,” he shot back. “Busy puking your guts out. Open the damn door before I break it down.”

She crossed the small room, wiping her mouth on the back of her long sleeve. She was not ready to face Alexander. But could she ever be?

There was fire in his eyes. “You were purging.” His voice was low, accusing.

“No,” she said automatically. “I must have eaten something—“

“There’s nothing wrong with the food. Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes, you are. How long? How long has this been going on?”

“Not long,” she said defiantly.

“How long is not long? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“A week, okay? Just a week. It’s not a big deal.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a very big deal.”

“I’m fine.”

“For now. But ask Theodosia—ask her how she ended up in the hospital again. It kills you, Eliza.”

“I’m fine,” she practically spat out the words. “You’re overreacting.”

“Me? Overreacting?” His voice raised an octave. “I’m going to have to tell Sybil.”

Panic and anger rushed at her at once. She curled her hands into fists. She wanted to scream. She wanted to go on a rampage. A rampage with fire. She imagined burning his life’s library.

“You lied to me,” he said in a low voice. “To all of us. To Laurens and Lafayette and Mulligan and Theodosia and every single person who cares about you. How can I possibly trust you, if you’re doing all of this? Do you not care, about any of us? Do we not matter at all? Do you think I want to watch you die? Fine.” He turned around. “Do whatever you want. It’s clear you don’t care about your body, or your life, or anything.”

Her voice was low and dangerous. This wasn’t about him, or about Laurens, couldn’t he see that? The fury was too much to bite back. “I fucking hate you,” she snapped, not meaning her words, but wanting to see the hurt across his features, as though she had slapped him.

Instead of getting angrier like she wanted, he shook his head slowly. “It’s not me you hate, Eliza.”

He left her there, in the hallway, mouth bitter and the tears pouring down her face. She just wished he wasn’t so right.


	15. Braids and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after Thanksgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! Back at it again with a new chapter. Just a few little announcements: updates may be sporadic for a little while, as I am moving cross-country at the beginning of September, so I need to get my life together, pretty much. However, also at the beginning of September I am also doing some fanfic bingo with a few friends, which means I will be posting some HamLiza and Lams oneshots that take place in this universe. Hence, I have officially made this fic part of a series, so I will add those oneshots as they get written. This chapter was inspired by this really amazing article I read on eating disorder recovery written by someone I was in treatment with. Hit me up at @piecesofkessa on tumblr if you want the link, or just generally want to chat Hamilton with me!

She had cleaned herself up. Spent time in that hallway, wiping the tears off with her sleeve, trying not to think about when Alexander had lent her his handkerchief, when he had been the one to wipe her tears away. She took a breath. She could do this. It wasn’t any different than at home, when she played the part of the good girl: a little quiet, a little shy, but overall pure and harmless. Never let her feelings show, never let her voice be heard.

She looked down at her body, blurred through her watery eyes. It was in moments like this that she hated it more than ever—that body that had committed the crime of being human, of being flawed, of having hips and a butt and thighs that touched. She had taken pride when she had finally achieved the elusive thigh gap, and the idea of going back to living in her old body made the anxiety too much to stand.

So she floated. Away from her body, into a place in her mind that no one could reach. Float as she talked the Washington’s, laughed at jokes she didn’t even process. Ignored Alexander, who didn’t hide his emotions nearly as well: his face was blotchy with temper, who avoided Eliza’s eyes. She longed to apologize for her hurtful words and be back in a happier place with him, but at the same time, she was furious, furious that he had followed her, furious that he had thrown those accusations so carelessly. She wanted to tell him that it didn’t work the way he thought; that she cared for him and Laurens and the others as much as she could, but that she couldn’t drown out the voice that tormented every moment of her day, that urged her to starve, to purge, to exercise.  She had thought he would understand, haunted by his own demons that he could never outrun. But if he was going to be this way, she could be stubborn right back.

“Eliza, dear?” Martha stood at the edge of the living room, where everyone sat in a post-food coma.

“Yes?”

Martha approached her, where she sat, blanket wrapped around her. “Could we speak outside for a moment?”

“Of course.” Eliza got up with difficulty, her throat still raw from earlier, and the ever constant dizziness nipping at her heels.

She followed Martha into the hallway, nerves nipping at her heels. Did she know about the purging? Had she burst their pipes and her secret was revealed to all? Martha didn’t look angry. She looked concerned.

“Is something wrong?” Eliza asked.

She was rewarded with a soft smile. “Not at all, dear. I just wanted to say that Alexander has spoken highly of you. Actually, he can’t stop speaking about you.”

As much as she wished she didn’t, she could feel herself flushing. She dropped her gaze.

“I just wanted to let you know, Eliza, dear, that our door is always open to you. Alexander, John, and Gilbert are all part of this family, and you are welcome to be a part of that. If you ever need anything, both George and I are a phone call away.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Washington.”

“Please, dear, call me Martha.”

“Thank you…Martha.”

“You are most welcome, dear.” She placed a hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “I know it’s not my business to pry on what brought you to the hospital, but if you ever need to talk about it, I am always here.”

Eliza wanted to cry. Martha’s words were so comforting, so unlike her own busy, distant mother. She wanted to show her gratitude but her words were useless.

“I’m very grateful,” she managed to say.

“Eliza!” Laurens’ voice cut through the door. “We have to head back now, before we’re late.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said to Martha. Martha nodded, and gave her a squeeze of the hand.

“I believe you can get through this, Eliza, and see the other side.”

Eliza nodded.

“And I expect to see you at the holidays at some point.” Martha gave her a warm smile. Eliza wondered if she would be so welcoming if it were known, what she had done.

“Eliza!” Laurens again, and she took a step back.

“Have a good night, Martha.”

“You the same, dear. You the same.”

 It was dark by the time they left the Washington brownstone, headed back to the hospital. Eliza wondered if the others found their footsteps just as heavy as her own. She dreaded going back to the hospital, back to recovery, back to the monitoring. And to the consequences, if Alexander was going to tell Sybil. She didn’t even know what those consequences would be, but she didn’t want to know.

The way back was quiet, as if everyone were absorbed in their own thoughts. She walked ahead, with Laurens, leaving Alexander and Theodosia to bring up the rear.

“Eliza, are you all right?” Laurens asked in an undertone as they waited for the subway.

“Fine,” she said automatically. “Just fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

The train pulled up in a rush of light and sound. “I can’t talk about this, John. Not right now.” Not ever, she thought, but she wouldn’t say as much.

She managed to make it to back to her room without further incident. They all parted ways as they entered the hospital. Eliza ached when she saw Alexander walk down the hall without saying good night. She longed for him, and hated herself for longing.

She just wanted to curl up under the blankets and cry. But as soon as Theodosia closed the door, she turned on Eliza.

“What’s going on?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Eliza snapped, rifling through her drawers for her pajamas.

“You’re not okay, Eliza, it’s kind of obvious.” Theodosia sat down on her bed.

She thought she had been doing a good job of hiding her emotions, but apparently not. A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another. And another.

_Just go ahead and do whatever you want. It’s not like you care about us, or your body, or anything._

_You ruin everything you touch._

_Fatuglyfatfatfatgetridofitfat…._

“Come here.” Theodosia patted the bed next to her.

Eliza took the seat. Theodosia reached for her hairbrush on the side table. “French or dutch?”

“What?”

“Braids. Sorry, I guess it’s just something my mother used to do. Whenever I was sad, she used to brush out and braid my hair while we talked about it.”

Eliza sniffled. She didn’t want to admit what happened. It was too raw, too mortifying, too painful. But she knew that if anyone were to understand, it would be Theodosia.

“Dutch,” she said, and Theodosia began to brush her hair. Eliza could see her point; it was incredibly soothing to have someone brush out her tangles gently.

Eliza used to be proud of her hair; it was inherited directly from the Chinese half of her ancestry, and was thick, dark, and shiny. Now it was dull, thin, and brittle. Having Theodosia fix it, though, reminded her of Angelica. Of being small and having Angelica fix her hair in the mornings, when their mother was too busy or in bed with another “migraine.” She felt a more familiar ache; she missed her siblings at times like this. Before she had descended into the netherworld of anorexia, they had been her best friends.

“I don’t know how to talk about it,” she said to Theodosia.

“That’s fair enough. I’ll never judge, whatever it is. I noticed, though, that Alex completely ignored you after you left the table, which is distinctly unlike him. Did you have a fight?”

“Of a sort.”

She wanted to be calm. Damn, did she want to be calm. Hold herself together, be impassive, to pretend she didn’t have any feelings towards Alexander at all. But that was a boldfaced lie, and just when she thought she had cried herself dry in the Washington’s hallway, she realized she had an endless supply of tears.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Tell me what the bastard said, and I’ll go kick his ass.”

Eliza imagined Theodosia dueling Alexander over her honor, and smiled through her tears.

“It was my fault, I guess, to begin with.”

“How so?”

“He caught me…purging.” The word was so hard to get past her lips, to actually admit what she had done.

Theodosia stopped brushing her hair. “Eliza, I want you to turn around and look at me.”

Oh, shit. Eliza turned around, her heart hammering. She couldn’t bear if Theodosia was angry at her, too.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” she managed to say.

Much to her surprise, Theodosia wrapped her arms around her. “Mad at you? Eliza, never.”

“Really?” Eliza could hardly believe it.

“Really. I mean it. I wanted you to look me in the eyes when I told you that it’s not your fault. Eating disorders are sneaky fuckers. They don’t want you to recover, to live, or be anything other than sick. Oftentimes when you try and shove them back into hell where they belong, another behavior will crop up to replace an old one. That’s how I ended up transitioning from a restricting anorexic to a bulimic. I was in your position once, and I blamed myself, shamed myself, for not wanting recovery enough. It’s not about wanting recovery enough. You can want recovery out of the ass, and that doesn’t change jack shit.”  Theodosia’s wide blue eyes darkened, turning a dark sapphire.

Eliza let Theodosia’s words roll over her. She had always felt like she was never enough. That this was all somehow her fault. That she had never wanted recovery enough to actually get better. “I’ve always thought it was my fault.”

“Eliza, did you wake up one morning and asked yourself if you wanted to get an eating disorder today?”

“No, of course not.”

“That’s exactly my point. You didn’t ask to get a mental illness. You didn’t intend to starve yourself nearly to death.”  Theodosia held up the brush, and Eliza resumed her normal position, allowing Theodosia to run the brush through her hair again.

“No, it just felt good. Like, I thought somehow if I skipped a meal, it would stop my anxiety.”

“I felt the same way. And when they weight restored me the first time, and I got out of the hospital, I found that bingeing and purging did the same thing.” Theodosia began braiding her hair.

“I just couldn’t live with the food. With eating the food. I had to get rid of it somehow. And I couldn’t exercise—“

“So purging became the next best thing, right?”

Eliza nodded. “Yeah.”

“Makes total sense.”

“So what do I do now?”

“I’d be honest, with your therapist. Tell her the truth. Everyone here just wants to help you, as hard as that is for us to see sometimes. Recovery takes time and a lot of hard work and some pitfalls along the way. You will stumble. You will fall. Sometimes the urges will be so bad that you will want to die. That’s normal.”

Eliza wrinkled her nose in distaste. “The urges are already that bad. Getting out of bed takes almost more energy than I can muster.”

Theodosia tied off the braids with two hair rubber bands wrapped around her wrist. “I feel that on a spiritual level. But that’s why we have the support of everyone else. If you ever feel like you can’t handle the urges, come to me. Or Laurens. Or your therapist, or Molly. They care about you. They can stay with you until it passes. You just have to ask.”

“I’m not used to asking for what I need.”

“Neither am I, girl. It takes practice.” Theodosia turned around to face Eliza. “But let’s make a pact to try our best, okay? To try and kick this eating disorder to the curb once and for all.”

Eliza took a deep breath. She still didn’t know if she wanted to stop, if she was ready for recovery. But maybe Theodosia was right. That it wasn’t about being “ready” or wanting recovery. That recovery would be a painful separation from something she had loved and hated and found herself addicted to. A gamble, a leap of faith. Hopefully one that would, one day, feel like the right thing to do.

“I promise,” she said.

“I promise,” Theodosia echoed. They linked hands, and shook on it.

“Now,” Theodosia said, fire in her eyes, “Tell me exactly what Alex said so that I can go kick his ass.”

* * *

 

The call for her came during morning group. Eliza knew what was coming.

She had sat with Theodosia at breakfast, Alexander purposefully avoiding Eliza. Poor Laurens seemed torn between them and Alexander, and Eliza felt a pang at his confusion. As much as Theodosia’s threat to kick Alexander’s ass was appealing, Eliza knew that she would have to resolve this with him eventually. It hurt her too much not to, as angry as she was with him.

“Eliza?” Sybil appeared in the doorway of the common room. “My apologies for interrupting group, but I need to speak with you in my office.”

Eliza shuffled down the hallway, burying deeper into her sweater. As soon as Sybil unlocked her office, she settled in the rocking chair, heater at her feet.

“Eliza, this morning, Alexander came to me with a concern.”

“I know,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yeah. He told me he would tell you.”

“About your purging while you were on a pass.”

“It’s more than just the pass,” she admitted, forcing herself to make direct eye contact with Sybil, as tempting as it was to look away.

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a week. I’ve been purging most of my meals, a couple of times a day.”

She could practically feel Sybil sigh, see the concern in her eyes. “Eliza, I’m not angry at you, or disappointed in you. But I do wish you had been honest and accountable with us from the beginning, so that we could have helped you sooner. As it stands, I don’t have time to have a full session to address this right now. But I have moved our session for tomorrow to this afternoon, and we will discuss this in further detail. And there will be consequences for your behavior.”

“I figured as much.”

“First, we will be suspending all passes for the time being. You will also be dropped down to level one again, and getting all meals and snacks supervised by a member of staff. And lastly, you share a room with Theodosia Bartow, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“We will be locking the bathroom in your room. You will officially be on purge protocol, and will only be able to use the bathroom monitored by a staff member. And finally, if you cannot keep your meals and supplement down after all of this, we will put you on a feeding tube.”

“And if I refuse the feeding tube?”

“We’ll get a certification to get it placed. I’m not saying this to punish you, Eliza. We want to help you, even if it seems like we’re against you right now—at least, that’s what your eating disorder wants to think. We want to keep you alive, to help you when you can’t help yourself.”

Eliza’s cheeks flushed. She had to pee in front of someone? Feeding tubes? There was no dignity left, none whatsoever. This was it. She thought she was in hell already. She didn’t think it could get much worse.

She was wrong. So very, very wrong.


	16. A Theodosia Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Theodosia Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry this took a while to be posted. I just moved cross-country and I also have a boy distracting me a lot. So blame him. ;) So just as a note: Theodosia is, in my headcanon, half Ethiopian Israeli and half American Jewish. I will also be posting a oneshot as part of this series soon as well. That's next on my list, after a Kubo and the Two Strings piece. Also thank you for Stephan for helping me out with a tricky part. 
> 
> In more important news: I SAW HAMILTON Y'ALL AND IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL MIRACLE. I AM SO HAPPY IT WAS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE. Come talk to me @piecesofkessa on Tumblr about it or anything; my ask is always open.

Theodosia Bartow was pissed at one Alexander Hamilton. Since Eliza had told her roommate about the fight they’d had, she had been quietly fuming, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. It went against everything she’d been raised as. Quiet. Submissive. A lady.

“A lady does not pick fights,” Theodosia’s mother had admonished her, when she’d come home from school with bruised knuckles and pride in her voice. Well, fuck that. She was a goddamn lady, and she was going to pick a fight with righteousness.

Now, if only she could corner Alex. He was with Laurens during the free time, as the two were nearly inseparable. She glanced over at to where they sat in the courtyard, deep in conversation.

“Hey, Theo,” Alex said easily, looking up as she approached. How could he not be torn up, after what he had done to Eliza? She wanted to rip his ponytail out of his head.

Her voice shook as she spoke. “Alex. We need to talk.”

He blinked. He had awfully long lashes for a guy. Hell, if she hadn’t been so madly in love with Aaron, she could imagine herself in Eliza’s place. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Eliza. Sweet, struggling Eliza was why she was here.

“Okay,” he said. “Laurens, want to scoot over?”

Laurens obliged, but Theodosia shook her head. “Alone,” she said between gritted teeth.

“Oh.” Alex stood up. “Common room?”

She nodded stiffly. A few flakes of snow landed on his shoulders. He opened the door for her, and she kind of hated him for it.

The common room wasn’t empty when they arrived. Jefferson sat nose to nose with Madison, the trembling boy’s hands in his own. It was tender and sweet and so unlike the asshole that Theodosia knew that she almost felt bad for wanting to kick them out.

“Jefferson. Get out.” Apparently, Alex had no such qualms.

“Free country, Hamilton. I can stay wherever I want.” Jefferson made no move to get up.

“Take it to your room.” Alex crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why, so you can have a tryst with _her_?” Jefferson pointed at Theodosia, who glared at him in turn. “I’m not going to support your insatiable need for sex.”

“Thomas, I have a boyfriend,” Theodosia snapped.

“That doesn’t mean anything, coming from you, of all people,” he replied.

“Hold me back,” she muttered to Alex.

“I’m afraid I can’t, I might knock out his perfect teeth myself.” He flashed her a devilish grin and she had to harden her heart, remind herself that she was beyond angry, she was fucking furious at him. Damn him for his ability to be charming.

“Thomas, I think—I think we should go.” Madison stood up, coughing into his hand.

Instantly, Jefferson’s expression softened towards his friend. “You sure, Jemmy? I don’t mind staying.”

Madison shook his head. “No, I think I want to be in our room.”

“Okay.” Jefferson stood up and brushed past Theodosia and Alex. “Let’s get out of here.” Alex mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Madison, who did not acknowledge him in the slightest.

“I swear, one of these days I’m going to pull his hair out by the roots.” Alex settled on one of the couches. “Or digging up some dirt on him and putting it on the front page of my blog.”

“Please do. Just for the comment about Aaron.”

“How is Burr, by the way?”

She shook her head. “I’m not here to talk about him, Alex. This is solely about you.”

“What?”

“How fucking could you, Alex? How could you be so fucking dumb? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She expected him to leap up and defend his honor. Instead, he just looked shattered. It almost made her feel sorry for him. Almost. “Eliza told you, didn’t she?”

“Of course she told me, you freaking idiot! How dare you—“

“How dare I?” He rose to his feet, his short stature not at all intimidating. “Do you have any idea what she’s doing, what she did? She doesn’t care, Theo! Not about any of it! And now you’re attacking me? I should be the one—“

“Alex, if you finish that sentence I might need to, god, I don’t even know. Punch you in the face.”

“Theo, do you have any idea what this is like for me?”

“For you?! Alex, are you seriously saying this is hard on you?”

“Yeah.” His mouth was set in a determined grimace. “I am. I’m saying it’s hard as hell to watch her struggle, and know there’s nothing I can do about it. I hate being helpless, Theo. You don’t even understand.”

Theodosia could see the point in his words. It wasn’t that she hadn’t taken into account how, say, Aaron might feel about her disorder. Though she was open with him about almost everything, her bulimia was something she did not discuss with him. Ever. She had caught him staring once at the knicks on her two fingers, scarred from constant purging. But when she had looked up at him, he quickly changed focus.

“No,” she said. “I don’t understand. I can never understand what it’s like to be in your position. But seriously, Alex, what the fuck? Yelling at her about trust, making her feel worse than she already did?”

“She seemed pretty pleased with herself,” he muttered.

“My ass she did. She looked miserable after dinner, or was your head too far up your ass for you to see that?”

“Fuck you.”

“Very eloquent, Alex. I expected more from you.”

He tugged on the end of his ponytail. “I’ll come up with a long litany of appropriate insults by dinner.”

“Please do. Use your fancy pens to write them.”

“Like I would waste my fancy pens on insulting you.”

She placed a hand over her heart. “I’m not worth your fancy pens?”

He dismissed her with a shrug. “Beside the point. My head was not up my ass.”

“Yes, it was, Hamilton, can’t you see that? All she needs is your support right now, and you couldn’t even give her that.”

“Please explain to me, Theo, exactly how I am supposed to trust her if she does this?”

“You can’t.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself. She’s supposed to be avenging Eliza, not…whatever this was. This half-conversation, half-fight. “You can’t fully trust her when she’s sick, because she can’t trust herself. She’s enmeshed within her illness right now. She is not in a physical or mental condition to be able to distinguish her choices.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” The anger had faded from his voice, she could hear the pleading in it. “I just want to understand. Why? Why is she doing this?”

Theodosia sighed. Damn him, for making it so difficult to stay angry with. “That’s a complicated question, Alex.”

“I don’t expect a simple answer.”

“Good, because there’s not one.” She took a breath. “We’re all different, every single of one of us. Some of us have similarities; there are some core traits that most eating disordered people have. But my reasons for purging are not going to be her reasons for purging. But I can probably hazard a guess as to why she is the way she is.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She had a bizarre, ridiculous desire to have Aaron here, to break the silence between them, to have him not just understand, but accept her. He loved her. She knew that much. But did he love her enough to take all of this? Talk less, smile more, that was Aaron’s philosophy. She had never challenged it. But now, she wanted to question everything. “I mean, you know Eliza. She’d put everyone above herself in a heartbeat. That’s just who she is. But do you think maybe, just maybe, she needs to use her own voice and she doesn’t know how?”

“What do you mean, she doesn’t know how?”

“Not everyone is blessed with your way with words. You write like you’re running out of time, you’ve got to know that’s not normal.”

“Yeah, but she could just tell me why—“

“It’s not that easy, Alex. She probably doesn’t understand why she does it herself, or why it feels so good. I don’t know why I stick my fingers down my throat every time I eat. It’s an emotional response to something deeper, something we can’t fully grasp.”

 “I never thought of it that way before.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’re Alexander goddamn Hamilton. You’ve been using your voice your entire life. You’ve always known who you are. But maybe Eliza doesn’t. Maybe she’s lost and in so much pain that she can’t even find the words to describe it. I’m not eloquent. I’m not poetic. But I can tell you that people who are silenced will find other ways of being heard.”

Alex began pacing, running his fingers through his hair. “I fucked up. God, I fucked up so hard.”

Theodosia raised an eyebrow. Alex, admit that he was wrong? Maybe there truly was a first time for everything. “Yeah, Alex, you really did.”

“I have to talk to her. I have to tell her I’m sorry. I have to listen. How could I have gone all this time and never actually _listened_?”

Theodosia bit her lower lip. “Because you’re you, Alex. I’m glad we’re friends and all, but really, you spend way too much time stuck inside your own head.”

“I’ll try not to be insulted by that.”

Theodosia waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, no, feel free to take anything I say personally.”

“Noted. I have to find Eliza.”

“I think she’s in our room.”

Unexpectedly, he threw his arms around her. “Thank you, Theo.”

“I didn’t do anything. Other than be pissed off.”

“You did more than you know.” He rushed out of the room, and she sunk back onto the couch.

She hoped the best for them, she really did. She only wished she had the answers for her own problems. For a way out of the life that loomed in front of her, with no way out. An arranged marriage to a good Jewish boy—she already knew him. She didn’t hate him. But she didn’t love him, either. He had no idea that she was here. Her family spread the rumor that she was visiting her Ethiopian cousins in Israel. To admit the truth, that Theodosia was bulimic, was too much. She couldn’t imagine living her life with him, and without bulimia to cope. If she died along the way, so be it. Death would be a release from trying on a life that would never fit, no matter what she did.

She took a breath. There had to be choices. There had to be something more. Something that could start with her. She stood up. She knew what she had to do. She walked out of the common room and over to the nurse’s station. Phyllis looked up from her knitting. “Something I can get for you, Theodosia?”

“Could I check out my phone for the remainder of the free time?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me grab it.”

She returned with Theodosia’s phone.

“Thanks.”

She walked back to the common room, scrolling through her contacts until she got to Aaron. She dialed, praying he would pick up his phone. Her prayers were answered.

“Theo?”

“Aaron.” Her heart did a little back flip in her chest, the way it always did when she heard his voice. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Yeah, I have a few. What’s going on?”

She willed herself to be brave. She could do this. She could talk about her bulimia. If only she knew where to start. “There’s something we should talk about.”


	17. Standing at the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander tries to make it up to Eliza; Eliza admits some difficult truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all. I'm sorry this took so long to get up. I've been struggling with my recovery a lot lately. HOWEVER: I met some of the cast of Hamilton and told them my recovery story and Lexi Lawson hugged me!!! So did Oak. :) Anyway, I hope you can forgive me for the delay, and enjoy the chapter.

Eliza knew she was being petulant. She had been staying in her room, with the exception of meals, ever since Thanksgiving. But she couldn’t look at Alexander. Couldn’t deal with Alexander. Her heart hurt. Her bones ached. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, and she missed her siblings terribly.

Theodosia had tried, to the best of her ability, to try and coax Eliza out of her shell, to get her to talk. So had Laurens, who had stopped by, all gentleness. But she had been stubborn. She may not have been as headstrong as Angelica, at least not blatantly so, but she could hold her own.

However, there was only so long she could spend with her own thoughts, reliving the argument with Alexander over and over again. Getting out of bed, walking the ten paces to the bathroom, trying for the millionth time to open the locked door. If she weren’t completely lying to herself, she would say that she was pissed because her freedom was taken from her. If she were being honest, she would say she missed purging. She could understand, in a way, how Theodosia had ended up the way she had. Living with anorexia, once caught, would be impossible. She imagined her siblings would be watching everysinglebite until she wanted to run from the table screaming. But if she could eat—eat and get rid of it—without them being the wiser, it would be ideal. She still didn’t want recovery. She wondered if she ever would.

She sat up in bed, knees drawn up to her chest, book balanced on top of them. Her notebook; she had gotten it back, spiral removed. The poems she had carefully copied down from various books, that were worn through from constant re-readings, were of little comfort, but they helped at least.

“One need not a chamber to be haunted/One need not a house/The brain has corridors surpassing/Material place.” Eliza traced the words as she recited them.

“Emily Dickinson.” The sound of his voice had her bristling. He leaned against the doorframe, his dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

“What do you want, Alexander?” She wished she had mastered Angelica’s way of injecting pure ice into her voice, but she could never quite get there.

“To talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Just hear me out, Eliza—that would be enough.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. Not bloody likely. But she could humor him. Maybe. She really ought not to. He had proven to her, what kind of man he was. But—

She thought of how he had offered his handkerchief to her. How he had dried her tears and listened. The brush of his fingertips against her own, how that one touch had made her feel more alive than she had in weeks. She tried, desperately, not to think of his kisses.

“I fucked up,” he said. “More than I thought possible. I should have handled that whole thing different. I’m so sorry, Eliza, I really am.”

She wanted to forgive him. After all, forgiveness was in her nature. Trusting, kind Eliza. That’s who she was. But right now, she was sick of herself, sick of being the perennial good girl, the kind girl. She wanted to break things. She wanted to burn them.

“You can do better, Alexander.”

“What do you mean, better?” He yelped, standing on the tips of his toes. “I’m sorry, Eliza, I’m genuinely, truly sorry.”

“How can I be with you if you won’t support my recovery?” God, even the words sounded like a lie. She wasn’t recovering, and she knew it.

“I do support your recovery, Eliza. I can’t stand to see you sick.”

“If you really did, you wouldn’t have said what you said.”

She could see the frustration in his eyes; she knew that he had been mentally preparing for a very different response. “What else was I supposed to say, Eliza? You ran away from the table like your ass was on fire, and I run after you, worried, only to hear you puking your guts out. Yes, I was angry. Yes, I was afraid. You could die, Eliza, doing that.”

“I wasn’t going to die.”

“You don’t know that! Shit, Eliza, how can I make you see?”

“You can’t make me do anything.”

“God, I don’t even know what to say.” She could see him shaking, though from rage or anxiety, she didn’t know.

“Then just leave, Alexander.”

“Eliza, I—“

“What?”

He hung his head. She wondered, briefly, what he had been about to say. If his words might have made a difference. She hungered to know—but she wouldn’t let herself know. It was too intimate, too revealing, as were her feelings. She cared for him, more than she would ever admit to herself. He was the only thing that had brought her out of the snowdrift of anorexia, at least for the briefest of moments.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Eliza.” His words were mechanical, devoid of emotion. It hurt her more than she could say.

“I guess you will.”

She didn’t watch him walk away. Instead, she buried her face in her pillow and wondered if the desire to burn everything to the ground was, in the end, worth it.

* * *

 

“So, let’s talk about the purging.”

Eliza sat in her usual chair in Sibyl’s office, heater at her feet. “Can we not and say we did?”

Sibyl shook her head. “I wish it were that easy. But we have to process this.”

Eliza curled her toes inside her flats. She wanted to run away. But there was nowhere to go, and she didn’t trust herself to make it down the block. “So I purged. For a week straight. That’s it.”

“I want to know why.”

“I don’t know if I can answer that.”

“Why not?”

Something about Sibyl’s line of questioning irritated Eliza. Couldn’t she just be left alone, for once, not every move examined and poked and prodded and attempted to be understood? “Because I don’t want to!” She snapped, anger rising to the surface.

“Good.”

“What?”

Sibyl pulled back her shiny hair with a purple barrette. “I haven’t seen you angry before. That’s good.”

“I’m not angry!”

“Then can you tell me what you are feeling?”

Eliza’s shoulders slumped. She felt like she did back at home, voiceless and screaming and unable to do anything other than come up with some polite response. She had never been a firecracker—Angelica was the dynamic child, the one who never needed help expressing herself. Though, come to think of it, neither did Peggy. Eliza was the one who suffered in silence.

“Everything,” she said finally. The word was difficult to get past her lips. “I feel everything. All the time.”

“Can you tell me a little bit more about that?”

“I feel too deeply and want too much.” The tears were pouring down her cheeks now, and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Why is it too much?”

Eliza sniffled. “I don’t know. Maybe. I feel like it’s too much. Like I’ve committed some cardinal sin for loving too much.”

Sibyl’s voice was gentle. “Who told you that? That it was too much?”

Eliza shrugged her shoulders. “Nobody. Not really. They didn’t have to.”

And they didn’t, not really. When you were the daughter of Phillip Schuyler, you learned by osmosis. By body language, by whispers that could cut more than a razor sharp knife. New York City, in the Schuyler’s world, was insidious. And Eliza learned. Eliza learned that staying quiet was safer.

“Well, you must have gotten the idea from somewhere.”

“I don’t even know where to start.” Eliza’s voice was a near-whisper.

“Tell me this, then.” Sibyl’s eyes were focused on Eliza directly. “What would be the worst that could happen, if you let yourself feel everything?”

The words were out of her mouth before she could censor them. “I could get hurt. I couldn’t live with that.”

“Hmmm.” Sibyl appeared to be deep in thought. “I’m not going to tell you that pain is temporary; you wouldn’t believe me anyway. But I do want to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly: do you believe the eating disorder is helping keep the feelings at bay?”

Eliza took in her words. Licked her chapped lips. Tried to keep the swell of emotion in her chest. If she was being honest? Truly honest with herself? Damning herself with the truth of it? “No,” she said softly.

“What?”

“No,” she said, louder this time. She burst into tears again. She thought she had this under control. But everything was unraveling at the seams. “It’s not working anymore.”

“Eliza?”

“Yes?” She tried to gain control of her tears.

“Can I give you a hug?”

Eliza nodded, and Sibyl walked over, wrapping her arms around Eliza’s bony frame. She smelled like Miss Dior, and somehow, that was comforting. “I am so proud of you.”

“Why?” Eliza didn’t see the point in pride.

“For wrestling with some difficult truths today. This is what recovery is all about.” Sibyl released Eliza from the hug.

Eliza found herself missing the close contact. She hadn’t realized, until that moment, how much she craved human affection. With a pang, she thought of Alexander. Of how she had driven him away. Maybe she had ruined things for good. The thought destroyed her more than she would admit.

The timer pinged, bringing Eliza out of her own head.

“Eliza, I did speak with your siblings, and we scheduled a family session for tomorrow. Is that all right?”

Eliza nodded. What was she going to say, no?

“Okay. We’ll see you at three o’clock, then.” Sibyl gave her a small smile. “Good job today.”

“Thanks.” Eliza fled, tripping over her feet, dreading tomorrow with every part of her being.


	18. An Angelica Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Angelica Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! I will admit this chapter took a bit of difficulty to write--I know we just had a Theodosia Interlude, but I felt like this chapter could only be told through the eyes of Angelica. That being said, do keep in mind that there is a narration problem here, namely that Eliza is not very good at expressing her feelings, so there is quite a bit under the surface of her words that I may or may not reveal at a later date.

Angelica Schuyler told herself she was never afraid. But today, Peggy’s hand in her own, she could feel the anxiety crawling up her chest, begging to be let out.

“Ready, Pegs?”

Peggy nodded. “I’ve missed her.”

“Me too, Pegs, me too.”

“It’s not the same without Eliza home.”

Angelica nodded. She knew it had to be tough on Peggy, now that she was at Columbia and Eliza in the hospital. The siblings had always been inseparable; Angelica moving to college had been one thing. Secretly, she hated living in the dorms. She longed to be home, where she belonged. Things had seen so much less complicated last year. Now Eliza was dying—and Angelica could barely breathe. What had happened to her little sister?

She walked up to the front desk, where a bored receptionist sat, chewing gum and flipping through an issue of Cosmo.

“Hi, I’m Angelica Schuyler, and this Margarita Schuyler. We’re here to see Elizabeth Schuyler and Sybil Ludington?”

“One sec.” The receptionist’s fruit punch lips twisted as she spit out her gum inelegantly. She began to type at her computer. “Angelica, you said?”

“And Peggy!” Peggy added, hands on their hips.

“Yeah, okay. Gotcha right here. Just sign in for me, will ya?”

Angelica scrawled a messy signature on a clipboard, and glanced at the sealed double doors in front of her.  There was a loud buzzing sound, and the receptionist nodded towards the door.

“First door on your right, hon,” she said to Angelica, who nodded.

She couldn’t quite get used to the harsh lighting in the hospital, how everything looked so distorted and not right. She felt like she was tripping—not that she had ever tripped before, but she had a vivid enough imagination. The hallway was deserted, and Peggy reached over, putting their hand in Angelica’s. Angelica gave a reassuring squeeze.

The sound of a door hinge squeaking, and Alexander emerged from a room.

“Alexander!” Angelica was so relieved to see him that she knew her voice was too loud, too shrill, betraying her rising hysteria.

And, well—

There was another motivation as well. Alexander made eye contact with her and she felt her stomach swoop, her heart flipping over in her chest. She longed for so much—

But no. That wasn’t possible. She had seen how Eliza looked at him; she knew her sister better than anyone. Eliza loved him, Angelica was certain of it. She had never confronted Eliza on it, but she didn’t need to. Her sister came first, always. Alexander’s eyes—oh those eyes—would forever be in second place.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Good to see you again,” he added with a crooked half smile.

She took a step closer to him, closer than was really necessary. Her veins thrummed with desire. Damn him for whatever she felt, for whatever fate kept throwing them together.

“It’s always good to see you, Alexander.” She spoke each word carefully, each syllable enunciated, trying to create enough emotional distance. She hoped. However, she caught Peggy’s eye, and her sibling raised an eyebrow, glancing at the lack of space between Angelica and Alexander. Not subtle enough, so it seemed.

“I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Perhaps someday they will be.” She couldn’t lose his eyes from her life. She knew, she _knew_ it was selfish to want him as much as she did. But that didn’t stop the yearning.

He almost seemed to be winking at her when he said, “I’m certain they will be.”

Peggy tapped her on the shoulder. A reminder, a not-so-subtle one, of where their priorities truly lie.

 “Have you seen Eliza?” Even the words hurt to say. She swallowed her disappointment. She always would.

He shook his head. Angelica tilted her head, taking in his body language. He was guarded, from his stance to those incredible eyes. But he was thin-skinned and she could see the pain seeping between his frosty demeanor.

“No.” His tone was clipped. “Sorry, I have to go find…”

He trailed off and darted down the hallway.

“Weird,” Peggy commented as Alexander flew out of sight.

“Extremely.”

Angelica wanted to find Eliza; find some sort of explanation for everything. Her world had been turned upside down since the day Eliza collapsed in Mulligan’s coffee shop. God knows what their parents were doing to stop this, with Phillip Schuyler up in Albany and Catherine emotionally unavailable, as always. It was up to Angelica to care for her siblings as she always had. But Eliza had needed so little care growing up. Obedient, kind by nature, never had to be told twice to anything. Peggy had been more breakable, marching to the beat of their own drummer.

The pair reached Sybil’s office. Angelica knocked on the door briskly.

“Come in,” Sybil’s voice floated through the wood.

Angelica took a deep breath. Peggy reached over and brushed aside some hair, tucking it behind Angelica’s ear.

“You okay, ‘Gel?”

“I will be,” she said with finality, pushing open the door.

Even though she had visited Eliza before, even though she had watched Eliza shrink, helpless to stop her, Angelica could not quite get used to her sister’s emaciated appearance. Hollow cheekbones, sunken eyes, half-moon shadows underneath. The middle Schuyler sibling huddled into herself, wrapped up in a cashmere sweater, knees drawn up to her chest, space heater plugged in at her feet. The heat was stifling, but Eliza was still trembling, though from cold or nerves, Angelica couldn’t tell.

“Hey, ‘Liza,” she said softly. Angelica’s voice usually bounced off the walls, but her sister seemed too fragile, too breakable to be spoken in any tone other than a whisper.

Eliza wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Hey,” she said, barely audible.

Peggy, however, had no such qualms, and wrapped Eliza in a bear hug. “I’ve missed you!”

Eliza gave a brittle smile. “Missed you, too, Pegs.”

“Please, Angelica, Peggy, take a seat wherever you like,” Sybil said.

Angelica and Peggy both raced for the couch at the same time, sitting so close that their hips were touching. Eliza sat opposite them in the rocking chair. Another sense of oddness; had things been normal, Angelica would have expected Eliza to be sitting between them, inseparable as always. Now, the distance between the couch and the chair seemed oceans apart.

“So, I’m sure you’re aware of why you are here today,” Sybil said, nodding towards Angelica and Peggy.

“To help Eliza get better,” Peggy piped up.

Angelica watched as Eliza’s bony fingers tapped out a rhythm on her kneecaps. She wanted so badly to reach over and hold her sister’s hand; pull her out of whatever hell she was currently in the grips in.

“How has she been doing?” Angelica asked Sybil.

“You know, I’m right here.” Eliza snapped, her brown eyes flashing.

“I know you are,” Angelica replied smoothly. “I just thought—“

“You don’t trust me to tell the truth,” Eliza said flatly.

“I never said that, ‘Liza!”

“You didn’t have to.”

Angelica’s heart slammed in her chest when she heard the bitterness in Eliza’s tone. What had happened to the sister who had shared everything with her, from first kisses to unbearable homework loads to laughing hysterically at one in the morning for no reason at all?

“I’ve been reading a lot about anorexia. I’m trying to understand,” Angelica said.

“You will never understand,” Eliza stared down Angelica.

“I don’t think that’s exactly fair.” Peggy rushed to Angelica’s defense.

Eliza’s voice was flat. “You’re taking her side.”

“Eliza, there are no sides.” Peggy squeezed Angelica’s hand.

“I am inclined to agree with Peggy,” Sybil said. “This is not about ganging up on each other, or taking sides. This is about talking through some of the issues that may have contributed to Eliza’s anorexia, and how we can switch the conversation to something more recovery-focused. Making true changes. Eliza, is there something you would like to ask your siblings?”

Angelica glanced over at her sister, who was winding her hair around her fingers. Never had she felt so isolated from her, as if they existed in different realms. She had no idea what Eliza could ask her and Peggy about. Hadn’t they done everything they could?

“I asked for nothing, and that’s exactly what I got.”

Angelica blinked in disbelief, her mind whirring in a thousand different directions. “Asked for nothing?” She yelped, the pain evident in her voice.

Eliza nodded. “When, have I ever, asked for a goddamn thing?”

Angelica heard Peggy gasp audibly. Eliza never cursed. Angelica’s heart ached for her lost sister. This specter, this ghost, was nothing like the happy girl Angelica had known.

“You could have, you know,” Peggy said pragmatically.

Eliza opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again.

“You got nothing from us?” Angelica knew she wasn’t as calm as Eliza, she never had been. She was too headstrong for that. But this was too much. “I tried to be the best sister I could be for you, ‘Liza. I gave you everything."

If Eliza knew, what she had given up for her. Angelica hung her head. She couldn’t tell her. Not ever. She loved her sister more than anything else in this life, and the truth would only hurt Eliza.

“Everything.” Eliza wiped away the tears that were running down her face. “You weren’t the invisible one. You weren’t screaming in a room of people who never heard your voice.”

“I want to understand, Eliza. Please, let me and Peggy in so we can.”

“It wouldn’t make a difference,” Eliza said.

“How could you say that? We want to help, Eliza, you’re just not letting us.”

“Yeah,” echoed Peggy. “We love you, Eliza.”

Eliza seemed to shrink into herself more.

“I’m hearing two opposed forces at work here,” Sybil said. “Eliza is feeling silenced, and isolated in her family dynamic, while Angelica and Peggy want to support her in her recovery but don’t know how. Is that right?”

All three Schuyler siblings nodded.

“That means I’m going to challenge you, Eliza.” Sybil’s crescent moon earrings swung as she spoke. “I am going to challenge you to use your voice, instead of your eating disorder. Your siblings can’t help you if you don’t tell them what’s going on. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

Eliza peeked out from a curtain of dark hair. “Do I have much of a choice?”

“You always have a choice, Eliza. An eating disorder is not a choice, but recovery is.”

“You say that all the time,” Eliza said.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Sybil replied. “And I have a challenge for your siblings as well, Angelica and Peggy. Now you have an idea about how Eliza feels about her role in the family, and how that influences her eating disorder. It’s easy to settle into old roles in the family dynamic; it’s as automatic as breathing. I want you to challenge those roles, and yourselves.”

Angelica nodded. She could do that. She’d do anything for Eliza.

“Eliza, is there anything else you’d like to add?” Sybil turned her attention to the middle Schuyler sibling.

“I don’t want to go home,” she said. “I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want to go home.”

“Why?” Peggy burst out.

“I just…” Eliza looked down at her chipped nails. “I know if I went home, I’d end up right back where I started.”

Angelica mused. She couldn’t understand—could she ever—exactly what triggered her little sister’s earthquakes. But there had to be a solution to this, a solution that everyone could get behind. Something that would keep Eliza in a healthier place.

“Tell me more about what about being at home triggers you, Eliza,” Sybil said.

“It’s—it’s everything. Dad never here, but the weight of his expectations…I always feel them. I always have to be perfect. I’m not brilliant like Angelica or brave like Peggy. I’m inadequate. I never measure up. When I’m with him, I know all of that and it drowns me.” Eliza’s words ran together in one breath.

Angelica took in her sister’s words. Hadn’t she felt the same pressure, being Phillip Schuyler’s daughter. The trophy family: Phillip, Catherine, their adopted daughters. As a state senator, Phillip and family had to be flawless. And so they would be. Clearly, it had taken its toll on Eliza. It would be something she would have to make peace with—nothing could really change the whirlwind that came along with being a Schuyler. But maybe, just maybe, Angelica could help a little.

“I have an idea,” she said.

“What is it, ‘Gel?” Peggy asked.

“Well, being at home triggers Eliza. And I hate living in the dorms. So what if…I found a new place, and Eliza came to stay with me for a little while, until she got better?”

“Could I come?” Peggy asked, all eagerness.

“We’d have to ask Dad, but I don’t see why not. Do you like the idea, Eliza?”

Eliza nodded. “There’s still…still things I need to come to terms with. But starting fresh somewhere has a certain appeal.”

“Well, it’s definitely something I’ll bring up with the rest of the team. If they feel it might be a viable option, we’ll take some steps to make that part of Eliza’s recovery plan,” Sybil said.

“I suppose that’s all we can ask for,” Angelica replied.

The timer dinged on Sybil’s desk.

“I’m afraid that means that our time is up for today. However, Peggy, Angelica, I would like it if you remained involved with Eliza’s treatment during her time here, so we will probably call you in again as needed.”

“Of course,” Angelica said.

“Whatever we can do to help.” Peggy stood up and wrapped her arms around Eliza.

 After a moment of hesitation, Angelica joined in. She could feel Eliza leaning in, and for a brief moment, the three of them were one, as it used to be. Angelica didn’t want to break the spell.

“Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now,” Eliza whispered, and for a brief moment, Angelica could see the woman her sister would become—her purity of spirit, her relentless faith in the goodness of the world, her driving passion to make things a little brighter.

And Angelica knew, in that moment, that everything would turn out all right.


	19. Lifeboat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no dignity in eating disorders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! I want to give a huge appreciation post to every single one of you. You are beautiful, and I am so grateful for all the kindness and support I've gotten from all of you. The beginning of this chapter is inspired both by my time in ED treatment and also a conversation with Schuylergirls on Tumblr--thank you so much for being my inspiration! Come talk Hamilton with me on Tumblr @piecesofkessa

Eliza stared at the orange juice in front of her. She had come in severely dehydrated, and Molly had ordered that she had at least sixteen ounces of fluid with every meal, eight ounces for snacks. It wasn’t the orange juice itself that bothered her—though she wasn’t particularly fond of the stuff. It was the fact that she was now on bathroom observation. She couldn’t deny the inevitable, but her cheeks burned with humiliation just at the thought.

“You okay, love?” Theodosia peered at her over her scrambled eggs.

Eliza stared at her own breakfast. She thought with time it would get easier. At least, she imagined it would. But so far, eating still filled with her a sense of panic she could not ease.

“Fine,” she mumbled, stabbing a grape in her fruit cup.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Eliza.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You haven’t wanted to talk about it for two weeks now. But everyone can see how you and Hamilton have been avoiding each other. Is this about what happened at Thanksgiving? I thought he apologized.”

“He did.” Eliza pushed her eggs around her plate. She knew she only had ten minutes to finish her breakfast. She mentally began picking out what flavor of supplement she wanted.

“So what the hell happened?”

“I didn’t accept his apology.” She took a mouthful of eggs. Disgusting. “Theo, how can you actually eat?”

“I hate myself with every bite I take.”

“I already do that.”

“I wish I could tell you, sister. But I don’t have any wisdom. Anyway. You didn’t accept his apology?” Theodosia leaned with her elbows on the table.

Eliza bit back irritation at her friend. She knew it wasn’t Theodosia’s fault, really, but she was in a foul mood and didn’t feel like being fair. “No, I didn’t.”

“Eliza, the guy is crazy about you.”

“Maybe I’m not so crazy about him.”

Theo rolled her eyes. “Don’t even start that with me.”

“God, you’re worse than Angelica.”

“Your sister?”

Eliza nodded. “I had a family session with her and Peggy two weeks ago.”

Theo sighed a little. “I hate those.”

“Your family doesn’t understand?”

“That’s not even the half of it.”

Eliza still carried some residual anger at her family, some resentment that she knew would take a while to dissipate. But she wondered if Angelica’s plan would work out; living with her and Peggy would make things easier. Well, easier for recovery. If she wanted to stop eating again….

“What flavor Eliza?” Phyllis whisked away her tray.

“Chocolate,” she said. She stared at the glass. She hated the stuff, but somehow, drinking her calories was infinitely easier.

“See you in group,” Theodosia said as she departed the table.

Eliza crossed her legs. She really had to pee. Like, it was painful. She downed the rest of the supplement and stood up. The drink left a milky coating on her tongue. “Phyllis?” She asked, her voice squeaking.

“Yes, dear?”

“Could I, um, have a one on one?” Even saying the words made her want to cry. She knew she was beet red.

“Of course.” She pulled a key from her ring, and headed towards Eliza and Theodosia’s room. Eliza trudged along, her feet weighing a thousand pounds.

Though the halls were deserted she felt as though everyone knew, everyone was judging her. She wanted to curl up in a ball and pretend she wasn’t human, a complete denial of her body. After all, hadn’t she done exactly that, faded into a specter of a girl, a theory of a girl, a paper girl? Someone above her own needs and hungers? And yet she had fallen. She had succumbed to something baser than herself. She tugged on the ends of her sleeves. She couldn’t live with her own humanity. It was too much. She was spilling out of this frail body, a mass and tangle of emotions that she desperately didn’t want to feel.

“You know the rules, Eliza. Talking, or singing, or counting. Door open a crack.”

Eliza wanted to roll over and die. This was the worst part, knowing that her voice could not cover up the sound of her peeing. She didn’t know what kind of conversation to have with Phyllis. And as much as she adored music, singing seemed out of the question.

“Un, deux, trois…” She squeezed her legs together, wondering if she could avoid it forever. But the insistent need told her she couldn’t.

“quatre, cinq, six…” Tears gathered at the corner of her almond-shaped eyes. She could never get used to this.

“Sept, huit, neuf…” She gave in, and the tears poured down her face. She felt lesser than, like an animal. There was no dignity in eating disorders. None to be had.

She finished as quickly as possible, and stood up. Phyllis peered in.

“Okay, Eliza, you can flush.”

“Thank you.” She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater.

Phyllis reached over and gave her a small, sympathetic smile. “I know how hard this is for you.”

 _No you don’t,_ Eliza thought, but she would never say as much.

“Get on back to group, dear.”

Eliza nodded, walking far too quickly, tripping over her own feet. Anything to save her from this humiliation. Anything to keep her from going back into this hell again. She took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders before entering the group room. Maybe, just maybe, she was going to have to recover.

* * *

 

There were no mirrors in any of their rooms. None in the locked bathroom. Eliza didn’t realize how much she relied on her mirror at home, how often she had spent counting her bones. Now she felt like she was crawling out of her skin, not knowing her weight. She stared down at her thighs. She swore—she swore—that they had expanded overnight.

“Eliza, staring at your ass isn’t going to change anything.” Theodosia was flipping through a magazine.

“You don’t know that.”

“Girl, I’ve already been down this road. Trust me, it does nothing.”

Eliza whipped around so fast her hair smacked her in the face. “How’s that body positivity going?”

“Fucking wonderful, thanks for asking.” Theodosia began to laugh. Then laugh harder. Then laugh so hard that she started to slide off the bed.

Eliza found herself joining in. There was something so absurd about her situation, when she really thought about it. Here she was, locked up because she couldn’t stop the compulsion to stave herself to death. It made zero logical sense, when she thought about it. Who did that, really? She felt like she was in free fall, sitting on Theodosia’s bed and laughing with her.

Finally, the hysteria calmed down to just a few errant giggles here and there. Eliza’s stomach ached from laughter. It had been such a long time since she had laughed like this.

“We’re ridiculous,” Theodosia said.

“I know.” Eliza brushed off a stray piece of hair stuck to her lips.

“I’m tired of this.” Theodosia propped herself up on her elbows.

“Tired of what? Laughing?”

Theodosia shook her head. “Of being in hospitals. Of sticking my finger down my throat. Of hating myself. But I can’t think myself out of my eating disorder.”

Eliza sighed and settled next to her. “You know, I haven’t really tried. It seems like too much to fight.”

“I’ve heard it’s worth it. Recovery, I mean.”

Eliza examined the ends of her hair for split ends. “Sybil tells me that all the time.”

“Do you remember what it was like, before?”

“Before your eating disorder? Kind of, I guess, but I feel like on some level I’ve always had it, that it’s always shared a mind and a body with me, even if I wasn’t acting on behaviors.”

“I understand the feeling.” Theo reached for her hairbrush and began brushing out her hair.

“You know, Alexander said something to me when I got caught purging. That I should ask you about what landed you in the hospital this time.”

Theodosia took a deep breath. “Yeah he knows. I told him, though I don’t really know why.”

“It’s easy to tell Alexander things. He has that ability.” She felt an ache in her chest when she thought of him.

“Well, I’d been bulimic for about a year. Nobody knew. Everything thought my anorexia was gone. I didn’t want them to know any different. Then I went to purge after dinner. And after dinner my chest started feeling funny. I collapsed.”

“What happened?” Eliza drew her knees up to her chest.

“I went into cardiac arrest.”

Eliza’s jaw dropped. “My God.”

“I was in a coma for eight days. They really thought I was going to die. I have no memory of it, only of purging, and then waking up in the ICU.”

“That’s terrible, Theo, I’m so sorry.”

Theodosia put down the brush. “So I earned myself a one way ticket here. I honestly didn’t believe that sort of thing could happen. Purging is no big deal, you know?”

“That’s what I told Alexander. He got so angry with me.”

“You probably scared the shit out of him.”

Eliza took Theodosia’s story into consideration. Alexander’s reaction had been less than ideal, sure. She still simmered with anger when she thought about it. But knowing what he knew—her rational brain reminded her that he cared. He truly cared.

A nurse poked her head into the room. “Lights out, ladies.”

Eliza crawled into her own bed, and the lights snapped off.

“Theo?”

“Yeah?” Her voice rang out in the darkness.

“I’m glad you’re still here.”

“I’m glad you’re still here, too.”

* * *

 

She didn’t have the bravery to go to Alexander. Instead, she sought out Laurens. He sat in a corner of the common room, tugging on his bandages. She settled into the chair next to him.

“Hey,” she said softly.  What with her separation from Alexander, she hadn’t spent much time with Laurens, and she found herself missing her freckled friend.

He gave her a sad smile. “Hey yourself.”

“So, how are you?” The words felt forced on her tongue. She hated herself for neglecting him. He still looked so very sad, with his wide eyes.

He tugged on his bandages again. “They’re taking out the stitches tomorrow.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I’ll still have the scars.”

“Maybe not forever,” she said. “When I got a second degree burn, Angelica rubbed Vitamin E oil on the scar every day. It helped a lot. There’s still a bit of skin that looks ripple, otherwise nobody could tell.”

Laurens shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, I have scars from the other times, so it’s okay.”

Eliza reached for his hand. He pulled back. She felt a pang in her chest. She had basically abandoned him during her separation from Alexander, and she knew that she was selfish for doing so. Laurens was still suffering, from what, he still wouldn’t talk about. She knew his feelings for Alexander were only a fraction of what drove him to the razorblade.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was so selfish. I’m very sorry.”

Laurens brushed back some of his hair. “I just…I guess I don’t understand. You just blew me off for two weeks straight. And Alexander—“

“I know. It was wrong.”

“Alexander hasn’t been the same, you know.”

She winced. “I wish I could tell you everything that happened.” She gave the room a cursory glance. Jefferson and Madison were in the other corner, whispering amongst themselves.

Laurens nodded towards the door. “Want to go outside?”

“I mean, New York in December isn’t my favorite, but I understand.”

He stood up. “I’ll keep you warm.”

She flushed a little. She knew there was nothing between her and Laurens, given that they both lusted after the same boy. But the kindness was enough to embarrass her.

She winced as the bitter air hit her rail-thin body. Laurens folded her into his arms, and she breathed in his scent, something woodsy. It calmed her instantly. He was taller than her, and she curled one hand on his chest. She swayed a little on her feet.

“You okay?” He asked gently.

“Yeah,” she managed to say between frozen lips.

“So what happened? You can tell me as little or as much as you want. I’m here for you, Eliza.”

“Alexander caught me purging, at Thanksgiving.”

He nodded. “I thought maybe that you had done that.”

She flushed. “Did I make it that obvious?”

“I mean, you jumped up from the table pretty quick. I just didn’t want to assume. Didn’t know if it was your game or not.”

“Fairly recent development,” she confessed.

“Fair enough. I’m not here to judge.”

“Alexander did. He was judge, jury, and executioner.”

“That sounds like Alexander. But he does it because he loves so passionately.”

“You think he loves me?” She didn’t dare hope.

Laurens lifted her chin with one hand, so that they were staring into each other’s eyes. “Eliza, I know he loves you.”

“It kills you, doesn’t it?” She couldn’t ignore that ugly truth, as much as she wished she could. As much as she wished that she could make everyone happy in this scenario.

He shrugged his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “It matters to me. You matter to me, John.”

He returned the hug. “You’re sweet.”

She flushed. “It’s kind of you to say so.” She knew she was worse, much worse than anyone ever knew. She was a weapon, ready to detonate.

“I think you know what you have to do,” he said.

She nodded. “I have to fix it with Alexander.”

He nodded. “And kick this eating disorder’s ass. Rise up. I know you can.”

“I admire your faith in me.”

He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, all tenderness. She felt warm and light, with his gesture. John Laurens truly deserved the best in the world and she wished more than anything she could give it to him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anytime.” His lips lingered on her skin.

“Really? Fucking really?” A voice cut through their moment. A voice Eliza knew all too well. She broke away from Laurens.

“Alexander—“

Hurt shone in his brown eyes. “My best friend and my Eliza. I can’t believe this.”

He turned on his heel and departed. Laurens looked at Eliza. “So which one of us is going after him?”

She grabbed his hand. “We both are.”


	20. Talk Less, Alexander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander never learns to talk less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! This chapter took a little while for it to ferment in my mind, but I hope you enjoy. Also, I have added another oneshot to this series--it's called Misery Loves Company, and it's a Laurens themed oneshot. On another note, I think we are starting to get to the end of this fic, maybe a few more chapters to go. That's not to say I won't continue writing pieces in this universe, as the inspiration strikes, of course.

There weren’t very many places Eliza knew he could hide. She and Laurens ran, hand in hand, down the hallway.

“Eliza, John, no running!” Called one of the nurses, but both ignored her. The common room was empty. Well, not empty, Theodosia sat there, crocheting, looking up when she spotted her friends.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Have you seen Alex?” Laurens asked.

“Yeah, he ran by a minute ago.”

“Any idea where he was headed?”

Theodosia shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I mean, there’s not a lot of places he could go.”

“Thanks anyway, Theo.” Laurens said, and Theodosia blew him a kiss.

He turned towards Eliza, but she was already halfway down the hall, headed to the room Laurens shared with Alexander. Her chest heaving, panic licking at her heels, she pushed open the door and—

Nothing. He wasn’t there. Just the mechanical wheeze of the heater. Disappointment crawled up her spine. She had been so sure.

Laurens caught up with her, and she shook her head. He slumped.

“Jefferson, I swear to God—“

Eliza’s ears perked up. She knew that voice. She knew it all too well.

“Alexander,” she mouthed to Laurens, who nodded.

The pair took off towards Jefferson’s room. The door was open. Jefferson sat on his bed, Alexander next to him—too close for comfort. In fact, Alexander was leaning in, his hand on Jefferson’s thigh. Jefferson, for his part, did not look the slightest bit interested.

“Alexander!” Eliza cried out, and Alexander snatched his hand away from Jefferson as if he had been burned. However, he narrowed his eyes when he saw who was addressing him.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“That’s a shame,” Eliza replied, “Because I have plenty to say to you.”

“You better listen to the lady,” Laurens added. “Before you do something you really regret, my dude.”

“Outside,” Eliza said. “Now.”

“Why should I?”

Eliza crossed the room in a few bold strides, and faced Alexander head on. “Because I love you, Alexander, and I deserve more than just some sort of cheap attempt to make me jealous.”

“Oh shit,” Jefferson muttered.

“Shut up, Jefferson,” all three of them said at the exact same time.

Eliza held out her hand to Alexander. After some hesitation, he took it. “Let’s go outside,” he agreed.

Laurens parted ways with them at the doorway to his room, and Eliza lead the way back outside. As soon as the cold air hit her again she started to shiver.

Alexander crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of game are you playing, Eliza?”

“I’m not playing any.”

“I mean I thought we had something. I’ve dated a fair amount of girls in my time. Fucked a few.”

“Alexander, I don’t need to—“

He held up a hand. “Hear me out. That would be enough.”

“Fine.”

“You were different. I realize that sounds like a goddamn cliché, saying that you’re different, that you’re special, that you make my heart beat faster and head spin like I’m drunk but it’s true, Eliza, you make me feel so much, so damn much that I don’t even know how to find the words. Not really. I can build palaces out of words, but none would be enough to describe your beauty, to describe how much I want you. What kindness and trust you give. And it seemed like you felt the same way. At least, I thought you were mine. Then you refused to accept my apology. I don’t know how to make it right, Eliza, but I want to make it right. I want to make it beautiful. So here I am, ready to find you, and I find you hear with my best friend. He’s kissing you.”

“On the forehead,” Eliza pointed out.

Alexander shrugs his shoulders. “So he’s kissing you, and I’m standing here like a fucking idiot, wondering whether I had misinterpreted what we had. Maybe I was wrong. And then—and then—you go and say you love me. So, Eliza, help a poor guy out, what the fresh hell is going on? I mean, really, I ought to be given some sort of consideration. Maybe I am not an ex, per se, but a little civility would be nice. I could—“

“Alexander.”

He was out of breath. “Yes?”

“Talk less.”

“God, you sound like Burr.”

“Burr is probably a wise man.”

“He’s an asshat.”

Eliza couldn’t help but laugh at that. Then her expression turned serious. “I think there’s been a lot of miscommunication going on between the two of us.”

“No shit. I mean—“

“I wasn’t finished, Alexander.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

“I would like to clear the air. One, I was very angry about what happened over Thanksgiving. I was tired of being the good girl, the forgiving girl, the one who lets everyone crawl all over her. So I chose to not forgive you instead, and for that, I am sorry, because you didn’t deserve to be the subject of a thought experiment like that. Two, when we weren’t talking, I missed you terribly. Three, Laurens and I are just friends, Alexander. Very very good friends. It’s nothing you have to worry yourself with, and honestly, I’m a little insulted that you would jump to conclusions like that. Think better of me please.”

“Eliza, I am so sorry…”

“I am not done yet, Alexander.”

“Right.”

She took a step towards him. “And I stand by what I said in Jefferson’s room.”

He blinked those deep brown eyes and her and she swore she could feel her heart melt at the sight. “You do?” He asked softly.

She nodded. “I do. I love you, Alexander Hamilton.”

His grin could have lit up the entire tri-state area. He took a step towards her, and pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her neck. She let out a small sigh of desire. “And I love you, Eliza Schuyler.”

She turned around enough to plant a kiss on his lips. He returned the kiss eagerly, his hands roaming.

“So what now?” She asked, breathless.

“You will always be mine,” he promised, and damn it if she didn’t believe him.

* * *

 

Eliza was so high she wanted to run up and down the hallways. But she wasn’t cleared for that kind of exercise—she laughed to herself at the thought. Instead, she sought out Theo in the common room.

“Did you find Alex?” Theo asked as she continued to crochet.

Eliza nodded. “Yes, yes we did.”

“Everything get sorted out?”

“How did you know there was a problem, Theo?”

Theodosia shrugged. “It’s Alex. The guy attracts drama. You’ll never be bored with him, that’s for sure.”

Eliza was practically bouncing in her seat. “It gets better.”

“Better?” Theo raised an eyebrow.

“I told him that I love him.”

At this, Theodosia put down her crocheting. “You did what?!”

“I told him that I love him.”

“Oh my god.” Now Theo was bouncing up and down in her seat. “You slut, tell me now! Did he say it back?”

“Yes. Yes he did.”

Theo threw her arms around Eliza. “I am so so happy for you! You deserve all the best.”

“Thank you.”

Eliza was filled with longing for her siblings. Yes, telling Theodosia was one thing, but she desperately wished Angelica was by her side, there to overanalyze every word, to confess every secret. She could feel some of her anger at her sister slowly starting to thaw. It would take a long time, she knew, for her to get over her feelings of inadequacy, of feeling like she had an impossible standard to measure up against. But Angelica and Peggy were her best friends, no doubt about it.

“I better go call my sister,” she said to Theo, who nodded.

“Yeah! If I had a sister, I’d be telling her too. This is so exciting! I mean, I don’t fully get what you see in Alex, the guy’s a total occupational hazard, but I’m happy for you nonetheless.”

Eliza ran out of the common room without looking, and collided straight with purple silk.

“My, my, my. Look who it is,” Jefferson said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Hello, Thomas,” Eliza responded politely.

Jefferson evaluated her with a cool stare. She wished she could figure out what was going on his head. Alexander was easy to read. This guy, a total mystery. “We need to talk.”


	21. The Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, there was the letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies!!! This is the second-to-last chapter, y'all. Only the epilogue left. It took me a while to get through this, because I don't want it to end, but the time has come. I hope you enjoy, and I am so grateful for every single one of you. The last line of the chapter comes from Marya Hornbacher's Wasted, my ED Bible. Come find me on Tumblr to chat @piecesofkessa

“I don’t really have much to say to you,” Eliza started, and Jefferson clamped his hand shut.

“That’s good, because I’m going to do the talking here.”

“Okay…”

“So you and Hamilton, huh?”

“I don’t see why it’s your business, Thomas.”

“ _Everything_ is my business, Eliza. Everything.”

Eliza crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t like where this was going. She didn’t trust Jefferson in the slightest. There was something about him that made her feel nervous.

“It’s especially my business when two people are breaking the rules that are designed to keep us all safe.”

Eliza held her head high. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Does no sexual contact between patients ring a bell to you? Because it ought to.”

Eliza flushed. “I haven’t slept with Alexander.”

Jefferson shrugged his shoulders. “Does it matter? It’s my word against yours, and you’ve already proven yourself to be untrustworthy.”

Eliza’s jaw dropped slightly at the insult and she forced herself to have a more neutral expression. “That’s not fair,” she managed.

“Maybe not but it’s the truth.” He lowered his voice a little. “Of course, nobody needs to know about your indiscretion.”

“They don’t?”

“They don’t,” he confirmed. “If you do me one favor.”

“Anything.” She couldn’t believe she was agreeing with him, that she would do something for him, but she didn’t want to lose Alexander, not now, not when everything was right between them.

“Get me a date with Angelica.”

“My sister?” Eliza looked at him, confused.

“Do you know any other Angelica?”

“Well, no, but…”

“There should be no buts. Either you get me a date with your sister or I make sure that the right people know about your relationship with Hamilton.”

Eliza felt as though her breath was frozen in her lungs. Angelica, she knew, would do anything for her, but she still felt terrible, subjecting her to Jefferson. Old Eliza would have just taken the fall, let herself be miserable without Alexander, all in the aim of the greater good. But she was struck, for the moment, with her desire for Alexander, with her desire to be, this one time, selfish.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

Eliza’s palms itched. She wanted to jump up and run out of there. Instead, she waited patiently for Jefferson to get up first, and when he was gone, let out the breath she had been holding. As soon as the coast was clear, she got up, and headed to the nurses’ desk to check out her cell phone.

“Hello?” Angelica’s voice, high and clear, calmed Eliza’s frazzled nerves instantly.

“Listen, ‘Gelica, I need you to do a huge favor for me, and I swear I won’t ask for anything else in….a really long time.”

“Okay…”

Quickly, and out of the nurses’ earshot, Eliza gave her older sister a run down of the situation. When she finished, she was met with a brief silence. Then, finally: “What a rat bastard.”

“I know,” Eliza said.

“I’ll do it, ‘Liza. Don’t get me wrong. But if he thinks he’s going to get away with this, he has another think coming. I’ll drink coffee with him—and school him on feminist discourse.”

“Of course you would.” Eliza giggled a bit, feeling all the more lighter.

“Well, I mean, if he insists on being such a prick, clearly he needs to be educated.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Eliza could see Alexander racing towards her, and she felt her heart skip a beat. “Look, ‘Gelica, I’ve got to go. But thank you so much. I owe you big time. I love you.”

“Love you, too, ‘Liza.”

Eliza had just hung up the phone when Alexander reached her. She couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Alexander?”

“I’m sprung!”

“What?”

“I’m sprung,” he repeated. “Tomorrow. I’ve stabilized with the new medication, and so they say I’m okay enough to discharge.”

Eliza paused. On one hand, she knew she should be thrilled for Alexander, that he should be able to go home to his life, to George and Martha and that feral tomcat. On the other, she felt empty inside, facing the rest of her stay without him. She knew he wouldn’t be there as long as she would realistically, she still had a ways to go before she would be close to discharge.

Tongue-tied, she flew into his arms. He held her close, stroking her hair. “I’m still going to visit,” he promised.

“Really?”

“Eliza, I’m not throwing away my shot with you. Whatever we have will go beyond these four walls, I swear it.”

God, did she want to kiss him, right then and there. But she didn’t dare. Instead, she reached for his hand and squeezed. She hoped that he understood all that she couldn’t say.

“My Eliza,” he murmured.

“Always yours,” she replied.

He took both of her hands in his own. “I promise you, Eliza, that as long as I’m alive, I swear to God I will support you in your recovery. I don’t know exactly how yet, but I will, always. I know it’s not going to be easy—that you’ll have to fight harder than you have in your entire life. But I was abandoned when I was young, and I would never let that happen to you. Never.”

She was overcome with love for him in that moment, the feeling rushing through her body so quickly and intensely she swore she burned with it. “And I swear to you that I won’t leave you behind like you have been in the past. I may not know your past—I know that takes time to speak of—but you are worthy of so much love, Alexander.”

His breath tickled her ear when he whispered in, “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“I wish you could, too,” she whispered back.

“Eliza?” She had been so absorbed in Alexander that she didn’t notice Sybil right behind him, her dark hair held up in a messy upknot with chopsticks. Eliza stepped away from Alexander, cheeks flushing. “Are you ready for our session?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Bye, Alexander.”

“Bye, Eliza,” he said, a bit of mournfulness in his voice.  She knew it was irrational, she knew she would see him tomorrow before he left, but she still felt hollow in her chest at the thought of his leaving.

Eliza headed straight for the rocking chair and settled in, heater at her feet. Sybil sat across from her, folder on her desk. Eliza noted that the folder looked thicker now, and she was burning with curiosity as to its contents.

“So, Eliza,” Sybil began. Eliza noticed that her nails were aquamarine now. “Let’s talk about Alexander.”

Eliza wanted to hide under the wooly afghan on the chair forever. She could feel herself flushing. “Do we have to?”

“You ask that about every topic we cover in here, my dear.”

“Point taken, but still.” Eliza looked away from Sybil’s direct gaze.

“I’m not fishing to try and see if you’ve broken the rules, Eliza. That’s not what this is about.”

“What is it about, then?” Eliza traced the bumps of the knitted blanket, still unable to look up at Sybil.

“Your recovery. One of the hallmarks of recovery is maintaining healthy relationships. Healing relationships.”

“You mean like me and my siblings?”

“Yes, that’s one relationship that you’ve done some good work on.”

“I’m not as resentful of Angelica and Peggy anymore. I’m looking forward to Angelica’s suggestion, of us living together. They’re my best friends, and I hate being angry at them.”

“Can you look at the part of yourself that was angry and identify why?”

Eliza loosened the blanket around her hand. “I think…I think it was my disorder.”

“Can you begin to separate yourself from the eating disorder, do you think?”

“Yes. A little anyway. I know I have a long way to go. But it’s…it’s starting to feel like something foreign. A poison inside me. Festering. I’m festering.”

“That’s a far cry from where you were when you came in, when you believed you didn’t have a problem. What changed, do you think?”

“I don’t know how to describe it,” Eliza said. “My connection to recovery is so tenuous. There was no magical moment where I realized what I was doing and that it was killing me.”

“Sometimes, there doesn’t have to be.”

“I was with John one night. He couldn’t sleep. Neither could I. We traded secrets in that hallway, and I made him promise to stay alive. To keep going against the odds. And I knew, that if he promised me to stay alive, then I had to do the same. That’s all it was. Just a promise between two friends.”

“But one you feel obligated to keep?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes. There’s a part of me, a very small part, that wonders what it could be like. To be in recovery. To be happy. To be who I want to be. And as much as I dislike being here, both John and Alexander make me want to be a better person.”

Sybil nodded. “I want you to acknowledge how far you’ve come with that statement. When you passed through these doors a month ago, you told me you didn’t have a problem. And now I see you, and I am so proud of you, because you’re telling me you want to try and recover. That’s immense, Eliza. That’s incredible.”

“Really?” Eliza looked down at her shoes. She wasn’t used to praise, not like this. She was the middle Schuyler sibling, the invisible one. But she didn’t want to be invisible anymore.

“Yes, really. You’ve done important work while you’ve been here. This is just the beginning of your journey, Eliza.”

“When I think about this being the rest of my life, I’m terrified.”

“As someone who has seen the other side of this, let me tell you it’s not always this hard. It does get easier, over time. I eat now without thinking twice. It’s all about building the skills and the support you need to have a healthy life. Do you think Alexander can be that support for you?”

Eliza twirled a long lock of hair around her finger. “I mean, I don’t want to put my entire recovery on him. That doesn’t seem fair.  But I hope he can be part of it. Him, and John, and my siblings.”

“Yes. It’s not healthy to have only one support in recovery it’s important to have a network of people who can encourage and inspire you. Healing your relationship with your siblings is an important part of that, and I am proud of you for your work in our family session.”

Eliza drew her knees up to her chest. “I’m afraid, still, though. Afraid of where this will lead. Anorexia is certain. I know the outcome. I don’t know the outcome of my life without it.”

“I understand you want to know the future. That you don’t know how to find yourself without the certainty of an eating disorder. But would you agree with me when I say that certainty is one you can no longer afford?”

“I suppose. But what if I don’t do well? What if I don’t succeed? What happens then?”

“I’m not going to sugar coat it, Eliza. You’ll fall. Again and again and again. But that’s part of learning. And you have a resilient spirit. You’ve come this far.”

“It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she admitted.

Sybil nodded, her earrings swinging. “It is. And think about it this way: if you can conquer this, surely you can do anything.”

“I hope so. There’s so much I want out of this world.”

“And that plan can’t include anorexia. That’s not a life. Do you think it’s time to say goodbye to your eating disorder?”

The timer pinged on Sybil’s desk, startling Eliza out of her thoughts. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say goodbye,” she managed. “But I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, per se.”

Eliza stood up, without dizziness. The ground felt solid under her feet. Sturdy. Her body was getting stronger, as much as she still struggled with it all. Maybe she could see herself as strong, instead of yearning for fragility, instead of taking pride in how sick she was.

“There’s always the letting go,” Sybil said. She hugged Eliza, who returned the embrace. “I’m so proud of you and your progress, Eliza.”

“Thank you.” She wanted to be proud, too. She still stood on the fence. But maybe there wasn’t a neat, tidy, ending like she dreamed of. Maybe, in the end, there was just the letting go.


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things must come to an end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the ending. I feel very sad to let this fic go, but honestly, this has become so much more than when I first said to myself, "But what if Eliza had an eating disorder?" 50k words later, I am so grateful to each and every one of you readers for your unquestionable support, beautiful comments and connections on Tumblr. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. This fic would not have come to fruition without you. An extra special thank you goes out to Stephan for being my sounding board and cheerleader as I wrote, you're the best! I tried to echo the ending of the show here in the epilogue. I hope you enjoy how I wrapped things up, and you're always welcome to find me on Tumblr @piecesofkessa

Six years later:

She wasn’t ready for the full length mirror. But was she ever? The dress was on the bed of the hotel room; everything was so nice and crisp in this suite, and Eliza liked that. She unbuttoned her blouse and looked down at her body, as she always did. It was a reflex she still hadn’t gotten over. Body checking, her therapist called it.

She half-expected to see her “old” body there, her sick body, the body Alexander knew when they first met. A body she had become acquainted with more than once over the years. Her first stint in treatment was not her last—she had fallen multiple times, fallen hard, had given new meaning to the words “hunger” and “fear”. She had expected Alexander to leave then, when she was at her sickest, her senior year of college. There had been screaming. There had been fights. There had been icy distances, days without talking.

She hadn’t believe she had stooped so low, that year. It had snuck up on her, without her even realizing it, the old behaviors, the safe rituals, the cutting here and slicing there. The nicks on the back of her fingers from purging, old wounds reopened. The panic attacks that left her bent over in terror, crying out into the soundless dark. Transition, her therapist said, she did badly with transition. It had been a long summer after graduation, flying out to a hospital in Denver for treatment.

It had gotten more difficult over the years, with each relapse. What had seemed conquerable when she was seventeen seemed downright impossible at twenty-three. Entrenched in the icy embrace of anorexia, she had been too broken to try and find her way out. But somehow, choking and half-drowned she had. This body of hers had weathered the maelstrom into a new dawn. A new dawn with Alexander.

 

The door to the suite clicked open and Eliza did a nose dive past the bed, dragging the wedding dress down with her.

“Alexander?” Her voice rang out across the room. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

Footsteps. Then a curly head peering around the wall. “Not Alexander.” Eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing on the floor, Eliza?”

Relief flooded her body at the sight of her friend. “John.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I thought you were Alexander.”

“Mulligan’s keeping him at bay. Barely.”

“Manic?” Alexander’s bipolar disorder was somewhat under control with new medication. He had managed to stay out of the hospital, at the least.

“A little. He’s mostly eager to see you.”

She found herself flushing. After all these years of being together, Alexander could still make her blush. Laurens held out his hands to her, and she took them. He pulled her up and out of her corner.

“I’m excited, too,” she said.

“Not nervous?” He flashed her a quick grin.

She shook her head. “I feel like I should be, but I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life.”

“Glad to hear it. You two have been through the long haul.”

She nodded, and glanced down at the dress on the bed. Laurens followed her gaze. “Need help with that?” He asked.

“I can’t reach the buttons in the back.”

Eliza couldn’t help but look down at her toes as the silk rustled around her. They were painted shell pink; she had gone with Angelica and Peggy to get manicures and pedicures the day before. She knew they were in the room next door, primping for their role as bridesmaids—well, Angelica was to be maid of honor. No doubt they would be in here in moments, shrieking over their middle sibling getting married.

For the moment, she enjoyed the peace with Laurens. She felt his delicate fingers pushing the buttons through. “What about you?” She asks softly.

“What about me? I’m the best man.”

“I know. I just mean….I guess….I worry about your happiness, John.”

He gave her a sad look, his brown eyes downcast. “I’ll find my own, Eliza.” He finished the last button and entwined his hand in hers. “I always do.”

Laurens had been through a few boyfriends in those six years; none had stayed. The scars on his arms had yet to fade. Fresh ones had run up and down over the years, like Eliza, he found it difficult to give up something so very all consuming.

She squeezed his hand. “I love you,” she said softly.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Love you, too.”

She laughed a little, remembering how Alexander had thought that she and John were a pair. It could be funny now, years after the fact. How dramatic they had been, running in circles around each other, crashing, falling in love with no way to navigate the complex emotions. She had gotten better at speaking up, after all the work she had put in with Sybil. She returned to the mirror, glancing at her face, at the way the harsh angles had rounded out with health.

She felt that old voice, that bitch whispering in her ear that she was too fat, and how could Alexander ever possibly want her. She wanted to punch the mirror; shatter the image of the young woman who stood in front of her.

“Eliza?” Laurens held her close. She took a shaking breath. “What’s going on?”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Just that voice again. She’s always in the back of my mind, you know?”

He gripped her shoulders. “Not today. Today is a day for your healthy self, to celebrate how far you’ve come. And you truly have, Eliza. You’re so different from the shaking seventeen year old girl I met six years ago.”

“I was more determined to die than to live.”

She tried to find the words for all of it—for that fear of being human, for screwing up, for the ridiculous standards she set herself up for—and only her. She and Alexander had been matched in that, in the way they held themselves, in the non-stop work they did.

“But you are alive.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And thriving. You deserve all the happiness given to you, Eliza.”

She took a breath. “Thank you.”

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Ready.”

The ride to the church was a blur. She watched out the tinted windows of the limo as Manhattan rushed past them, as Angelica fussed with her hair, as Peggy entertained themself with throwing flower petals at Mulligan. She hadn’t seen a breath or hair of Alexander since the night before. Her palms were sweating—maybe she had lied to Laurens. Maybe she was nervous, to take such a leap of faith in her life. A leap towards something so much more than self-destructing.

She could hear the music beginning to swell, and she vaguely felt Angelica adjusting her skirt. In just no time at all, she would be Eliza Schuyler Hamilton. She knew this wasn’t an absolution, that no person could “save” her from herself. That it took her own inner strength to make a difference in how she ran her life. That Alexander would be there as a support, but that the crux of her recovery lie in her own ability to be honest with herself and take the steps necessary to live. There was no “perfect” recovery. No savior. Instead, there was just a single young woman, fighting against the storm clouds in her head. And that would be enough.

It had to be enough.

The doors to the church were thrown wide open, the golden light drowning her in its splendor. Her eyes focused, and as Eliza took in Alexander at the end of the aisle, she gasped.

It was enough.


End file.
